


Sherlock Holmes, With and Without A Plan

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Aphrodisiacs, Awkward Flirting, Chef John Watson, Dating, Doofus Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mrs Hudson Gives Advice, Party, Picnic, Shy Sherlock, Taking Slow Before Moving Quickly, catering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11641311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Sherlock is given an annoying task that turns into an interesting problem. Handled with his usual flair for social interaction, he tries to win over the short chef.





	1. His Mother's Request

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> We aim to update once a month. All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, we hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

“This is the most ridiculous idea I’ve heard in years,” Sherlock told his mother.

“Stop saying that,” she said. “This is the fifth time and if you say it again, I’ll put the phone down.”

“I wish you would,” Sherlock grumbled.

“I’m sure you do, because you are a child. However, I am an adult and bored of your behaviour.”

“He won’t like it,” Sherlock pouted.

“You mean you won’t like it,” she said. “Which does not bother me in the slightest.”

“Cruel.”

“Sherlock,” she said. “I am now bored of you. The party is in three weeks, I’ve booked the venue, and all you need to do is arrange the caterers. I know you are capable of handling this and it’s in your best interest to be willing to do so. I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow with details -- call me before you sign anything.”

Sherlock dropped his phone on the sofa and went in to make himself a cup of tea. A surprise party for his father? In truth, it was precisely the kind of thing his father would love. Which made his mother’s idea all the more frustrating -- there was too much pressure. Why did she have to ask him instead of Mycroft? His brother was immune to that kind of pressure; it wouldn’t bother him in the slightest if it all went wrong. But it would bother Sherlock. It would bother him a lot.

He took his tea over to his desk and opened his laptop. He typed in “caterers for old man’s party” into the search box. There were too many options. Since today was the fifth of the month, he went to the fifth page and clicked on the fifth link. 

The website had a purple background, a deep wine colour. Sherlock suddenly fancied a glass, before he remembered that it wasn’t yet midday. He stood up and retrieved his phone. This would require a cigarette so he grabbed one of those as well, before calling the number.

"Thank you for calling The Noble Bachelor. This is Melissa speaking. How can I help you?"

John looked up through his office door and smiled. Good, another call. Hopefully it would turn into another client. He was in the middle of adding contact numbers and appointments to his phone from the calendar his assistant had given him for the month. The business was growing, but not fast enough.

“You’re a woman,” Sherlock said in surprise. He’d been expecting a man for some reason, perhaps the name of the company. “Sorry. I need a caterer . . .” That was obvious. Maybe he should have planned the conversation a bit more. Well, they do this all the time -- surely they know the details that need clarified.

"What date are you looking for?" she asked.

“July 1, Saturday, evening time,” Sherlock said. “I need . . . what sort of food do you do? I don’t know precisely what I want, but I know quite well what I do not.” 

"We do all sorts. There's a list on our website of dishes, including Chef Watson's specialties. He even takes requests within reason."

Sherlock moved over and skimmed through the menu. “I have no idea what any of these things taste like. Are they good?” he asked.

"Yes, I think so." Melissa turned and looked at John, making a face. "Our chef is very good and as I said, he can make accommodations and changes to almost any recipe."

John raised his brows, watching her on the phone.

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock said. “Fine, I trust you -- you haven’t lied to me yet. And that date will work? We’re expecting about thirty people.” 

"Yes, that date will work. We show up early to set up and speak with the family about any requests. Are you interested in our alcohol packages? We have wine, hard liquor, both, open bar or cash bar."

“You won’t need to speak to any family except me. I’m in charge of this. And yes to all the alcohol, please,” Sherlock said. 

"Of course. Can I have a good number to reach you?"

Sherlock clicked to the About page of the website, trying to find more information about Melissa or this so-called Chef Watson. He saw an email address. “The name is Sherlock Holmes. I’ll email you all the information once I’ve considered the menu,” he said. “You’ll receive it within the hour. Send a confirmation -- this is an important event and everything needs to go exactly to plan.”

Melissa turned her head to John again and raised her brows, lifting her pinky to say this man was ‘one of those.’ “Of course,” she said. “A confirmation will be sent with a price estimate. Payment is due the day of the event."

“Good, fine,” Sherlock said and hung up. He immediately rang his mother.

“Have you been hard at work already?” she teased.

“Yes, I have actually,” he said. “Do I have to choose the food or will you?”

“I’m sure you can handle it,” she said. “If you’d feel better, I could look over your choices.”

“I knew you didn’t trust me,” Sherlock said. “Go check your email.”

He forwarded the website’s address to his mother with the note “I was going to order one of everything. Fine?” He then got up to make himself a fresh cup of tea while he waited for her response.

"That sounded interesting," John grinned.

"Very. I hope he doesn’t turn into a pain," Melissa said. "He's going to email us back with his decision and picks for food."

"Well, odd or not, we have another client!" John said, flicking to July in his phone to add the appointment.

Sherlock heard an email arrive and got up to check it. It said “Excellent choice” but he noticed that she’d attached a document. He opened it and saw her itemized list. He copied it into a blank email, but returned to hers, sending a quick reply that said “But I still did this all myself.” Then he added the venue details and his phone number to the new email and sent it to Melissa.

There. He’d done it. Everything would run smoothly. He’d hired a caterer, just as his mother requested, and now he’d never have to do that again.

"He's replied. I'll let you open it," Melissa called. John nodded and went to the company email, opening the message and reading through it. He made notes on the food choices, added the contact information on his phone, then replied back with the amount that would be due, thanking him for choosing his business.

"The requests weren't as wild as you made me think they would be," he told Melissa.

"Wait until you meet him,” she said. “I can tell about these things -- he’s unusual.”

John rolled his eyes and got to work planning the next job he had.


	2. Unnecessary Worry

“I’ve spoken to you fourteen times in the last month,” Mycroft said. “Yet you didn’t mention this party once. Why is that, Sherlock?”

“It’s not my party -- this is all Mother’s doing,” Sherlock answered. “If you are too busy to attend, I’m sure the fun will go on without you.”

Mycroft walked over to Sherlock’s desk. “What’s going on? Why is Mother doing this?” he asked.

Sherlock couldn’t tell from his brother’s voice whether he was concerned or just annoyed. “It’s been ten years since his retirement,” he said. “She wanted to celebrate. Some people enjoy celebration.”

“And those people are called idiots,” Mycroft said dismissively.

So . . . not concerned, Sherlock decided. “Those people are our parents,” he said. “What is it to you -- show up or don’t. It’s not that complicated.”

“Everything with them is complicated,” Mycroft said. “Don’t be stupid, Sherlock. It’s likely an excuse to get to me . . . to us. She’ll expect us to bring dates or perhaps it’s a test . . .”

“Now you’re being stupid,” Sherlock said. “Not everyone lives their lives like that. It’s just who you sees every moment as a chance to judge someone. They like socialising, they like attention. That’s all this is.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Mycroft said. “I’ll be in touch -- we’ll need to coordinate our reactions, but that can wait until you come to your senses. Which you will. Before this party happens.” He moved to the door and left.

Sherlock turned his attention back to his computer. However -- like always -- his brother’s voice was still in his head. Was he right? Was this why his mother had involved Sherlock? He was fairly good at reading his mother, and he hadn’t picked that up. Still, Mycroft and his stupid ideas were often right. He opened his email and re-read the caterer’s confirmation email. It didn’t make him feel any better. He picked up his phone and rang the Noble Bachelor.

"Thank you for calling The Noble Bachelor. This is Melissa speaking. How can I help you?"

“Melissa, this is Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “The event is ten days away.”

"Uh, yes, we have it marked in our calendar," she said. "Is there a change you need to make?"

“No,” Sherlock said. “I just wanted to make sure everything was going to plan. Are there any complications? Will your chef be able to handle everything?”

Melissa turned to look at John. "Why don't I let you speak with him yourself?"

"Who?" John mouthed.

Melissa put Sherlock on hold to transfer the call. "It's that Holmes guy."

John's brows shot up as he picked up the call. "Mr Holmes? This is John Watson -- is everything okay?"

“That’s what I’m calling you to find out,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know if Melissa explained just how important this event is, but it must be perfect and I’m afraid I am not a man you want to let down.”

"I didn't think we'd given you any reason to doubt us. Everything is fine. All of my clients are important, and I can assure you we won't let you down."

“Yes, well, but I need things to be better than fine,” Sherlock said. He had a feeling he was not making himself clear enough, though he was also pretty sure he wasn’t sure what point he was trying to make. “I understand that all your clients are important. What I’m trying to say is that this client is . . . very important.” He moved over to get a cigarette. Why did his brother have to come over here and fill him with unnecessary anxiety?

"I understand," John said. "As I said, everything is going smoothly and I assure you that everything will be excellent."

“Well, do you need anything from me?” Sherlock asked. “Do you need money or my signature or anything?”

"The money will be due on the day of, and I can get your signature for the contract then as well."

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Without a signed contract, you could pretend you have no obligation to me . . . let me assure you, Mr Watson, you do,” he said, trying to sound slightly menacing. “However, I will trust you. I will sign the contract and pay you on the first. I assume that I will be entirely satisfied. I also assume you will contact me directly if there is any problem whatsoever.”

"Right," John said. "Mr Holmes, I'm very aware of the obligation I have to you. I'm a professional and I am eager for the job. If you would like to sign and pay ahead of time, I am more than happy to give you our address so that you can come by."

Sherlock thought for a moment. That felt like more hassle than was necessary; he’d be better off just figuring out to avoid his brother (or his brother’s voice in his head) for the next week. “Well, thank you,” he said. “It’s good to hear you are eager.” He got up to put on the kettle. “I will ring you on Friday, just to see if there are any last minute issues, but as I said, feel free to call me if you need anything.”

"We have everything under control here. Thank you, Mr Holmes."

“Thank you, Mr Watson,” Sherlock said. He set his phone on the table and sat down with a cup of tea.

John hung up slowly and couldn't help chuckling. 

"Well? Didn't I tell you?" Melissa asked.

John smiled. "He does sound . . . interesting."

“Annoying, more like it,” she said and then glanced over, raising her brows. "Interesting, huh? Please make sure the food is cooked before you try and get into his pants."

"Oh shut up," he laughed.

On Thursday morning, Sherlock’s mother rang him. “Two couples aren’t coming,” she said as soon as he picked up the phone.

He knew what her tone of voice meant. She was frustrated but couldn’t talk to his father so she just needed him to listen. He had nothing else to do, so he was willing to do this for her. “Good excuses?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “They’re stuck abroad.”

“All four of them? That’s a coincidence.”

“Not really -- they were on holiday together.”

“Oh, well, I never liked them anyway and I don’t think Dad did either,” he said.

“I haven’t even told you who they are!” she laughed. “You don’t know them and your father does like them, but it’ll be all right. Won’t it?”

“Of course, it will,” Sherlock said. “You are an incredibly obnoxious planner. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”

“I didn’t do the food and drink,” she reminded him.

“True, but you asked your favourite son to be in charge of that, and he, of course, would never let you down,” he said.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” she said. “You’re being quite useful with all this.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m quite useful overall. Which is why I’m your favourite.” 

She laughed again. “Just don’t tell Mycroft,” she said.

“I never do,” he said.

John kept busy with his next event, taking pictures of the food and the set up for the website. That had been Melissa's idea, a better way to show people what John could do, instead of picturing boring trays of food. The food itself was nice, and the arrangements even better. He was in the office late, uploading the photos and captioning each one. At the same time, he was making a shopping list for the Holmes party.

While it was still dark Friday morning, Sherlock called the Noble Bachelor, leaving a message to say he was checking in. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone there, but he did want them to know he was still expecting everything to go well.

When he checked his email, his mother had sent a short shopping list which annoyed him, but he went out and got the things she wanted and dropped them off at the venue.

On Friday John was in the kitchen with his staff, making the preparations for the Holmes party. When Melissa popped in and said there was a message from Sherlock, John washed his hands and went to call him back. 

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock said when he saw the catering company’s name on his phone.

"What? Oh, no. Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to make sure we would have use of the kitchen? And an open space to set up our tables?"

“Of course, yes,” Sherlock said. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa and was still trying to wake himself up. “I presume so . . . yes, of course.” 

"Okay. I just want to make sure. Sometimes the family is also cooking and it causes a delay. I'm sorry to bother you."

“None of us will be cooking, I can assure you of that,” Sherlock said. “I suppose we’ll be meeting tomorrow -- you’ll be there, correct? To ensure that all goes well?”

"Of course. I'm in charge, and I'm the chef."

“All right then, Chef Watson,” Sherlock said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Will four o’clock work -- two hours before the start?”

"Oh, no, we’ll need to be there a bit earlier," John said. "To ensure everything is set up and cooked to perfection.”

“Right, that’s fine,” Sherlock said. “I’ll be at this number until then so . . . call if there are any problems.”

"Okay. We'll be at the address by midday," John said. 

“Good,” Sherlock said. “I’ll be there then as well, so that everything goes to plan. See you tomorrow, Watson.” He hung up and got up to start his day, even though he had no idea how he’d actually spend it.


	3. The Party

Saturday morning Sherlock was awake by 5. He felt quite nervous, but told himself it was on his mother’s behalf. He showered and got dressed by 6 and then spent the next few hours staring at his laptop or out the window while drinking too many cups of tea. He arrived at the venue just before eleven so he walked down to a news agents to buy a paper, which he read in the large empty room.

John was up early packing all of the food and trays and bottles of wine. He was sticking post it notes with cooking instructions on each dish so that whoever unpacked it would know exactly what to do with it, leaving him free for the bigger jobs. When the van was loaded they took off, arriving at the venue just before noon. 

Sherlock looked up when a woman entered the room. She said “his people” were here, and he wasn’t sure precisely what that meant. He folded the paper and left it on the table and got up to see. Stepping through the door, he saw a few men and women rushing off to the left toward the kitchen area. He glanced around for someone who looked like the chef, though he wasn’t quite sure what that would look like.

John let them handle the food for a moment while he walked towards the man outside. "Mr. Holmes?" 

“Yes, that’s me,” Sherlock said. “You’re Watson?”

"Yes, you can call me John." John reached out and shook Sherlock's hand. His first thought upon seeing him was Melissa's comment about getting into his pants. John looked him up and down--he wouldn't exactly mind. 

“You’re nothing like I expected you to look,” Sherlock said. “I thought you’d be taller.”

"Oh, well, I'm not," John said. "Could you show me the room?"

“In there,” Sherlock said, pointing and heading in. “Those doors lead to the kitchen where I assume your staff has just gone. I assume those tables near the doors are for food.” He looked over at Watson. “That makes sense, yes? I don’t normally come to functions like this, but it seems logical.”

John nodded. "I'm going to move them a bit so they are not so close to the doors. That will be easier for my staff to walk through with the wine glasses. Does that sound good? Stationary food and mobile drinks?"

“Yes, I think that’s fine,” Sherlock said. “All your people look quite smart -- they will impress the guests. Are they also polite and all that?”

"Of course," John answered. "They are all very professional, I promise there won't be any trouble. I need to get in the kitchen and start cooking now."

“Do you need my help?” Sherlock asked. The words came out before he realised it was an utterly stupid thing to say.

"Oh no," John smiled. "We have this all under control. I'll find you if we have any more questions." 

“Right,” Sherlock said. He walked back to the table and grabbed the newspaper. “I’m just going to step outside for a few moments.” He rushed out and around the building, lit a cigarette and got out his phone.

“I’m here,” he said when his mother answered.

“Oh hello,” his mother said. “Lovely to hear from you.”

He noticed her voice sounded strange. “Is Dad there with you?”

“Right . . . go ahead,” she said.

“I’m here. The food is being prepared. Everything is going well. I told you I could do it,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “And what did you need from me?”

“I’m bored,” he said. “When are you going to get here? I’m bored.”

“I’m not sure I can help with that,” she said. He heard her mumble something and then a few minutes later, she said, “Don’t ruin this -- he’ll get suspicious.”

“No, he won’t. Don’t over react. Where has he gone?” he asked.

“He’ll be back in a moment. What do you want?” she said.

“When are you arriving?”

“We’ll be there shortly after six. Find something to keep you busy until around five -- people will start arriving then and you’ll need to welcome them,” she said, her voice still hushed.

“What am I supposed to do until then?”

“There’s plenty to do in London, Sherlock -- find something to keep you busy.”

“The chef is short,” he said.

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m hanging up now.”

He finished his cigarette and then walked around for a while until walking was more boring than sitting so he headed back. He smoked another cigarette and went back inside. He sat down again and re-read the newspaper.

John moved the tables and set out table cloths. He stepped back to imagine where the plates would sit. He started unloading heating plates and plugging them in, arranging them so they were on one side of the table so he could put the trays of ice out for the fruit and salads. He looked around and saw Sherlock reading the paper. He wondered if Sherlock was babysitting. He watched him for a moment before going into the kitchen again. 

It was a long afternoon. Once the cooked meals were sorted, John started the arrangements while his staff cut vegetables for the salads. Cheese, crackers, meats, and various other nibbles were arranged on different platters. The wine was set to chill and the time was ticking by quickly. 

Sherlock watched the chef and his workers. Everything was looking lovely actually, which was a huge relief. He still had no interest in participating in this party, but he didn’t want his mother to be disappointed. He ignored three calls from his brother and then got paranoid something was wrong, even though he knew nothing was.

When he noticed that the chef was slowing down, boredom encouraged him to attempt to interact with him again. 

“Everything looks good,” he said. “Will it taste as good as it looks?”

"You can taste anything you like," John smiled. "We have extra so the plates will be full all night. Cooked in batches so it’s always fresh," he added. 

“I don’t eat,” Sherlock said. “I mean, my palette is not particularly sophisticated. I’m sure it’s delicious.” He glanced over. “I’d be interested in trying some wine, though.”

John nodded, motioning for Sherlock to follow him to the kitchen. "You don't eat? Ever?" he asked, raising his brows.

“I do occasionally obviously,” he said, stepping through the door. He didn’t like being in this room at all -- it felt much more stressful. “You must eat a lot.”

"Well, you certainly speak your mind freely," he said. "Red or white?" he asked. 

“Red,” Sherlock said. “Feel free to get one for yourself -- add it to my tab.”

John shook his head. "I don't drink while I'm working," he smiled. He passed the glass to Sherlock and made sure someone knew that bottle had been opened already and they should start serving with that one. 

Sherlock took a sip. “Nice,” he said. “So . . . you’re a chef.” God, the party hadn’t even started yet and he was failing at chit chat.

"I am," John nodded. "What do you do?"

Sherlock didn’t really have an answer to that, so instead he said, “The party’s for my father.”

"Birthday?" John asked. He didn't repeat his question, but he wanted to learn more about this very handsome man.

“No, it’s not my birthday,” Sherlock said. 

"No, your dad's, I meant. Is it his birthday?"

“No, it’s not his either,” Sherlock said. “Why? Is it yours?”

John laughed -- it burst out of him in surprise. "No, it isn't." He cleared his throat as one of his staff popped in.

"I think the guests are arriving," she said. 

John nodded and thanked her. "Time to get to work," he smiled. 

Sherlock’s stomach dropped as he glanced at his watch. Even though he’d failed at the conversation with the chef, speaking to the guests was likely to be much worse. He quickly finished his wine and headed out.

As soon as the guests started entering, Sherlock felt a bit lost in a sea of voices. All of the women remarked on how he had changed; he hadn’t remembered ever meeting one of them. He did his best to direct them to the snacks and wine and kept checking his phone to make sure there was no emergency call from his mother. 

When it was almost six, he moved to the front of the room to try to get people’s attention to shut them up, but no one seemed to notice him.

John was bringing out a fresh plate of quiche when he saw Sherlock in the front trying to get everyone's attention. John grabbed a glass of wine and brought it to Sherlock. He took a fork out of the apron pocket and tapped if against the glass until everyone quieted and looked over him. "There you go," he smiled, carefully slipping away again.  

Sherlock watched Watson quiet the crowd and then realised everyone was now watching him. “You need to shut up now,” he said. “They’ll be here in five minutes.” He tried to melt in the background, but luckily people started moving to the tables and sitting down, still speaking but more quietly this time.

A woman came to the door and motioned for Sherlock.

“Your mother and father have just arrived,” she said. “In a few moments, my colleague will bring them in. He’ll flick the lights first, so you’ll know when to shout.”

“Shout?” he asked, but she was gone. He returned to the tables and told the guests what was happening.

Then the lights flicked and his parents came in. His mother was beaming, and his father looked genuinely surprised. Then music started playing and suddenly it was a party -- people were circulating and eating and drinking and slapping his father on his back. Sherlock got another glass of wine and sat down at an empty table.

During a small break in the cooking, John slipped out to check on the food levels, as well as ask a few people if they were enjoying everything. It was all running smoothly. He turned to go and saw Sherlock alone again. "Tell Anthony to take over cooking for a bit," he said to the next staff member he saw.  He walked over to the table and sat without asking. "Is everything alright?"

“What?” Sherlock said, standing up. “Why? Has something gone wrong?” 

"No, just you're sitting here all alone," John said, looking up at him.

“That’s how I like it,” he said. Behind Watson he saw his mother approaching. “My mother’s coming,” he said. He picked up his wine glass and took a sip.

“Sherlock,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “It worked!” She gave him a hug as well. “You did well.” She looked over. “You’re the chef?”

John stood up and moved away from Sherlock a bit. "I am, yes. I hope you liked everything," he smiled.

“It all looks gorgeous, and everyone seems to be enjoying the food,” she said. She looked over at Sherlock. “And where did you two meet?”

“We haven’t met,” Sherlock said. 

His mother smiled -- she knew what the look on his face meant. “All right then,” she said. “Let me introduce you. This is my son, Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “And your name is?”

John glanced at Sherlock. "John Watson," he smiled. "I really should get back to the kitchen, I'm sorry." He excused himself and hurried off. He preferred to be alone and was pretending they had never met. John could take a hint.

“He seems nice,” she said to Sherlock.

“He’s quite short,” Sherlock said.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that,” she said. She looked around again. “Is your brother coming?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He pulled out his phone. “He called earlier but didn’t leave a message.”

“It’d be nice if he came, but only if he behaves,” she said. “You’re behaving . . . what’s going on with that?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” he said. “You asked me to do something, I did, and everything is good.”

She leaned in to him again, giving him a squeeze. “Everything is good, Sherlock,” she said. 

His father came over and asked if his mother wanted a drink. “I’ll get it,” Sherlock said and headed off. Instead of catching one of the servers, though, he went into the kitchen. “Can my parents get some wine?” he asked John directly.

"Yes, I've just sent someone out. I'll make sure they get that way first."

“Good, thank you,” Sherlock said. “That was my mother,” he added for no reason.

John nodded. "She's very nice," he said. "I'm glad she's pleased with everything."

“She’s hard to please, so you should take that as a real compliment,” Sherlock said. A server came in to speak to John. “I’ll leave you to it,” Sherlock said and disappeared out the door. He swung by a server and took a glass of wine off her tray.

John was glad the food was going so quickly. He didn't want to waste left overs and even more, any of these people could turn around and hire him for their parties. He smiled at the thought.

Sherlock headed for the empty table, but it was no longer empty. His brother was sitting there. They met eyes, so Sherlock couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen him. He walked over.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, taking the wine glass from him.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s for Father obviously,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a celebration with the presence of the eldest son.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Besides,” Mycroft said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

John came out with the fresh plates and saw Sherlock talking to another man. Hmm, maybe that's why he wasn't interested. John shook his head. He was being insane. He hardly knew anything about this guy, other than the fact that he was handsome. He set up the plates and headed for the kitchen again. 

Sherlock listened to Mycroft for a while before he noticed a couple leaving. He glanced at the clock. Good, it was time for this to end. He stood up and moved over to his parents who were saying goodbye to people. Once everyone was gone, his mother turned to him and said, “It was good of Mycroft to come. Did you two have a nice talk?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Suddenly, he remembered, “I’ve got to pay the caterers.”

“Don’t worry about that -- I’ll go speak to the chef and ask him to send me the bill,” she said.

“Don’t--” he said sharply, though he wasn’t sure what prompted the response.

“Why not?” she asked suspiciously.

Sherlock didn’t meet her eye. “Payment is due the night of the event,” he mumbled.

She waited a moment, but Sherlock said nothing else and didn’t move.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll give him a cheque now.” She walked off and grabbed her handbag before heading into the kitchen.

Sherlock watched her walk away. He felt quite nauseous suddenly; maybe he’d had too much wine. He said goodbye to his father, grabbed one of the flower arrangements from the table and left. He smoked a cigarette as he walked and then hailed a cab and headed home.

John started cleaning up and looked up when the door swung open, and Sherlock's mum came in.

"I just wanted to give you the cheque before we forget," she smiled. 

"Oh, of course," he said. "Thank you."

"There's a bit extra, everything was really wonderful."

"You didn't have to," John stammered.

"Of course we did. We'll certainly keep you in our contacts -- I love throwing parties."

John smiled as she left, pocketing the cheque and helping everyone clean up and pack everything away. There wasn't much food left so everyone took a break and ate. John drove them back and after everyone left, John went into the office to finish up the file and add up the new wages. He left for his own flat when he started dozing at the desk.

When Sherlock got home, Mrs Hudson peeked her head out her door. “Did it go well?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. He handed her the flower display.

“Lovely,” she said. “So the caterer? He was good?”

“Yes,” he said. “He was good. It all went to plan.”


	4. Mrs Hudson's Comment

John slept soundly but still felt tired when his alarm went off. He took a quick shower and went into the office, straight back to the kitchen to start washing the dishes from last night. He hummed as he loaded the machines. There wouldn't be much to do today. When this was all done, he'd have the day free for himself. This wouldn’t happen quite as often, now that they were drumming up more business. 

When Sherlock woke up, he had a bit of a headache, which may have been from the wine or may have been from the exhaustion of the whole party -- the waiting around, the pressure, the ‘mingling’. He was pleased it had all gone well for his mother, but he was more pleased that was all over.

He got a cup of tea and lazily made his way to his computer where he found the files his brother had sent. He’d forgotten about that: Mycroft had offered him some work, research mostly, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. He needed something to do, that was true -- he didn’t really have a job or an income and he was getting too old to be relying so much on his parents’ wealth. However, working with and definitely working for his brother were loaded propositions. He decided he’d deal with after he woke up properly and got rid of his headache.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson came in, made herself a cup of tea, and sat down for all the details of the party. Sherlock obliged immediately (because she would’ve got them out of him eventually anyway). She listened attentively and then flicked through the photos he’d taken on his phone.

“So when will I be meeting this chef?” she asked.

“What?” he said as he headed back from the kitchen with two fresh mugs of tea.

“Have you invited him over?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “Why on earth would I do that?”

She took a small sip from the cup and then looked over at him. “You forget that I’ve known you a very long time, Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “I know when you are interested in something, and I think you are interested in this chef.”

“I am not,” he said. “I know nothing about him to be interested in . . . all I know is that he is a chef and he is quite short.”

“Yes, I’m aware -- you mentioned that three times,” she said. “Your face changes when he comes up, and he came up quite a bit in your explanation of last night.”

“My face never changes,” he said stupidly. “If you think you noticed something, you are mistaken. I do not have time to change my face just because of a short man. I need to figure out my career.”

“You’re considering a career in catering?” she asked.

“God, no, pay attention please and stop talking about the chef,” he said. He explained Mycroft’s proposition (leaving out specifics about the task, obviously). “You know how he is,” he said. “I’m not sure if I could or should work with him. But I have to get some kind of job . . . I’m not always . . . ‘good’ when I’m bored.”

“And you need to pay your rent,” she teased. “I think you should do it. At the least, you’ll get paid and it’ll show good faith that you are working on being more independent. But perhaps you will discover something you actually like to do -- maybe it won’t be with Mycroft, but maybe you’ll find out what it is you’re good at.” She looked over. “You must be good at something besides making messes.”

He glanced around. “Right, I’ll tidy up,” he said. “But first I need to get started on this research.” He stood up and carried the cups into the kitchen. Mrs Hudson left and he sat down to get to work.

John's next two jobs were both in the same week so he was kept very busy. He was preparing double each time with whatever wouldn't spoil to try and stay ahead of it all. It felt good to be busy like this. It gave him ideas for when this was happening all the time and just how many more people he would need to hire. But that was later. Right now he needed to get through these next two events and the next week would be clear.

Sherlock didn’t admit it to his brother, but he’d quite enjoyed doing the research he’d ask him for. It took him to some libraries and labs he’d never visited, and it was really good to focus on something concrete and useful.

However, one thing was slightly bothering him, but he did his best to push it to the side until he’d finished Mycroft’s work. Once he did, he summoned Mrs Hudson upstairs as he felt she actually was the source of the problem.

“What’s going on?” she said, coming in to the flat. “Have you found your new calling?”

“What?” he asked. “Oh, maybe, I don’t know. It was good and Mycroft seemed pleased with my work . . .”

“Pleased is high praise from him,” she said.

“Yes, but that’s not why I’ve called you up here. Sit down,” he said, although she was already sitting. “You said something the other day that has been playing on my mind.”

She scanned her memory trying to think of things they’d talked about in the past few days, but mostly it had been his rambling on about the research or her nagging him to tidy. “Well, I’m just glad to hear you actually listen to me,” she joked. “What brilliant thing are you talking about?”

“I didn’t say brilliant,” he said. “It’s the chef.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The caterer from Dad’s party.”

Mrs Hudson thought for a moment. “Yes, well, what about him?” she asked.

“You said I found him interesting,” he said. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I thought you did,” she said. “Was I wrong?”

Sherlock didn’t answer the question. Instead he asked, “But what made you think that?”

She watched his brain working, which was kind of cute since this was one aspect of life Sherlock Holmes had very little knowledge of. She decided to go for honesty. “Your face,” she said.

“My face?”

“And your voice,” she clarified. “Yes, your face and your voice.”

“Do you mean my words? I know in fact that I never said anything about my finding him interesting,” Sherlock said.

“No, not your words, you idiot,” she said. “Your face and your voice changed when you mentioned him. It went from normal, grumpy Sherlock when you mentioned Mycroft to interested Sherlock when you talked about the caterer.”

“What makes you such an expert at this?” he pouted.

“One because I am an expert -- you might be able to look closely at someone and know their history and hobbies, but I can read people, too, Sherlock,” she said. “Besides, I’ve seen it before…your being interested.”

“When was this?”

“Well, granted it was never another person, it was more like a chemical or a book or whatever. But I recognise it and I know what it means,” she said. “So tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Sherlock said.

“Well, fine then, why did you call me up here for this discussion then?” she humphed, moving to get up.

“Because . . . I keep dreaming about him,” Sherlock said quietly. 

Mrs Hudson sat back down. She looked over at him and his confused face looked even sweeter. “All right then,” she said. “We should probably talk a bit about this.”


	5. Sherlock Tries And Fails

The second event of the week left John feeling like he'd been hit by a train. The woman was a real pain, extremely picky, and at the last minutes added another twenty guests. It was one of his biggest jobs, but thankfully his staff was on point and they all handled it very well. When the hostess came back to him at the end of the night with a tip, it almost made everything worth it. Tips meant they would be considered again. He liked that thought, but he also liked knowing next week would be a bit lighter. He stayed after to do the clean up in the kitchen, going home very late and falling into his bed. He texted Melissa that he would be in late tomorrow morning before he dozed off for the night.

When John woke up it was almost eleven. He hadn't meant to sleep that late, but it was done now. He took a long shower and made his way into the office, getting lunch for Melissa as a thank you for running the place alone until he got in.

Sherlock had been up most of the night, thinking about his conversation with Mrs Hudson. She was often right about these kinds of things -- she was always the first to notice when he was struggling and had been the one who’d stopped him the last few times he was tempted to use.

But asking someone out on a date? It was something Sherlock had literally never done before. He presumed at some point in life, he might have those kinds of feelings, but he guessed it would feel more natural. Calling up someone who was basically a stranger and saying I like you -- that was too peculiar, but it’s basically what he’d be saying to this man. But still . . . Mrs Hudson was often right about these kinds of things.

He pushed open a window and lit a cigarette. Then he called the number of the Noble Bachelor.

"The Noble Bachelor, John speaking."

Sherlock hadn’t been expecting he’d answer the phone. “Where’s Melissa?” he asked stupidly.

"What? Oh, she's eating lunch. Can I take a message?"

“It’s Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock said. 

"Oh, hello," John said. "As I said Melissa is unavailable so . . . I can take a message for her, if you’d like."

“It’s not her I wanted to speak to,” Sherlock said. He didn’t know what to say -- his mind was going too fast for his mouth. “I wanted to ask you . . . to cater another event.”

"Oh! Great! I can take the details," John said.

“A smaller one, a lunch,” Sherlock said. “But soon . . . sometime next week?”

"Okay. How many people will be attending?"

“Probably six,” Sherlock said. “Or is that too small? Ten? Twelve? Whatever works for you.”

John laughed softly. "What? Well, anything works for me. I'm a professional," he teased. "Six, one hundred, we can do it."

“Six or seven,” Sherlock said. “I’ll ring you back to confirm. It’s just a lunch so don’t go to any trouble.”

"Um, right -- well, we are professional regardless of size or occasion. Do you know what kind of food you'd like? Or drinks?"

“Something unusual. Or whatever you think is good,” Sherlock said. “Martinis to drink. Any other details you need?”

"Just send me an email when you know for sure how many people will be there and with the address."

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “And how are you? Are you well?”

"I'm okay," John said. "How have you been?"

“I’m okay as well,” Sherlock said. “I’m glad you’re okay. Okay. So I’ll email you shortly, okay?”

John raised his brows in amusement. "Okay." He was smiling softly.

“All right, goodbye then,” Sherlock said and hung up. He immediately lit another cigarette and smoked it. Then he went downstairs and pounded on Mrs Hudson’s door.

“You ruined everything,” he said when she opened the door.

“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked.

“You have to have a party next week,” he said, stepping inside.

She immediately realised what had gone wrong. “Why do you have to make things so complicated?” she sighed and followed him into the kitchen. “All right, tell me what happened?”

“I called him,” Sherlock said.

“Right . . .”

“And I couldn’t think of any words to say.”

“So you booked him for an event?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I did.”

She looked over at him. “And now I have to have a party?” she asked.

“It’s just a lunch,” he said. “For six to eight people.”

She sighed again. “And where is this party happening?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “I panicked.”

“That’s obvious,” she said. “All right fine, but I’m not paying for it. And I want it outside. In a park.”

“This is a stupid idea, isn’t it?” he asked.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “It’s a much more complicated idea than just calling him up and asking him out. But it’s . . . a start. It’ll be all right.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But I need the details so I can email him so he doesn’t forget who I am. And so I can distract him from the stupid conversation.”

Mrs Hudson got out her phone and Googled the park she’d been thinking of. Then she scanned her contacts. “Do I need to come up with five people or are you coming to this party?” she teased.

“Do you think I should?”

“Of course,” she said. “What would be the point otherwise? That’s not really a relationship, is it, Sherlock? You just calling him up every few weeks and booking some catering -- I think you deserve a little more than that.”

“All this is making me feel ill,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “You feel fine, you’re just eager. Go upstairs and email him and then take a nap and dream about him.” She fussed his hair.

“I think you’re making fun of me,” he said.

“But you’re not entirely sure, are you?” she smiled.

“I’m not sure about any of this.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I am.”

Sherlock went upstairs and typed up an email, specifying the time and place and requesting a confirmation reply.

John waited at the computer, refreshing his email every couple seconds. Finally it arrived and he felt a bit foolish for smiling as wide as he didn't he was glad that Melissa was out of the office. John sent back his confirmation email and set to work thinking up lunch items. For such a small party he would only need one staff member, maybe two. That would give him some time to talk with Sherlock. Maybe.

Sherlock stared at the confirmation email. Was there anything in it that gave the impression that the chef was interested in him, too? He thought perhaps Mrs Hudson might know. But he was exhausted from all this already. He decided to take a short nap. But not in the hopes of dreaming about Watson, like she’d suggested. That was not his intention at all.

And he didn’t dream about him during the nap. He woke up feeling a bit better, putting it all out of his mind as best he could.


	6. The Picnic

However, each night Chef John Watson continued to make an appearance in Sherlock’s dreams. Sometimes he was the primary character; he and Sherlock were doing something together (walking down a street, talking in a cafe, flying a propeller plane). Other times he didn’t play such a big role (Sherlock would scan a crowd and see Watson’s face, Sherlock returned a book to Watson the librarian). Each morning he’d feel quite embarrassed by it all. Still, he pondered what these things might mean and if they were indeed evidence of Mrs Hudson’s theory. They must be. Clearly there was something about the man that intrigued Sherlock, and his utter ineptitude at speaking to him must mean it had a sexual component. He would have trust Mrs Hudson’s promise that it would be all right.

The day before the luncheon, Sherlock rang the catering company (since he’d done it for his father’s party, he figured he might as well give himself another try at speaking properly to John).

John had a nice menu prepared for the lunch. He tried some new recipes with unusual ingredients, but had some normal sandwiches as well. He’d also put together veggies and different spreads, finger foods, and a couple different sweets for after. He was in his office adding up the price of everything when the phone rang. He glanced up but Melissa wasn't as her desk. "The Noble Bachelor, John speaking."

“Watson, Chef Watson,” Sherlock stuttered. “It’s Sherlock Holmes. I’m calling to make sure everything is going to plan for tomorrow.”

"Oh yes, everything is fine. We didn't talk about the food this time, so I hope it's what you're looking for."

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Sherlock said. “I know it won’t involve as much cooking. . . so I wanted to ask, just out of curiosity, will you be there?”

"I will, yes. I always go, just in case," John said. 

“You must have a lot of white clothes,” Sherlock said. He lifted his hand to cover his face in embarrassment.

"What? You mean the uniform?" John smiled. "Only about a hundred."

“Well, you wear it well,” Sherlock said. That felt like a compliment -- had he saved himself? “I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ll see you at lunch.”

"Thank you," he said. "I'll be at the park about an hour before it starts.”

“All right,” Sherlock said. “I’ll see you then.”

He hung up and went downstairs. “I think I spoke normally to him,” he told Mrs Hudson when she answered the door. 

“Good work,” she said. “Come inside. I need to talk to you.”

Sherlock’s stomach turned as he stepped inside. “What’s gone wrong?” he asked.

She glanced over. “Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted your opinion on my outfit.”

“I don’t care about that,” he said.

“I know you don’t, but I do. I need advice and I always offer you advice, don’t I . . .?”

She didn’t often rely on guilt trips, but when she did, she used them well. “All right, fine,” he said.

She disappeared and returned quickly with two dresses.

“The grey one,” he said. “With the blue. The grey and blue one.”

“You don’t think it’s too . . . dreary? I need to look lively,” she mumbled, holding both us and looking at herself in the mirror.

“Why does it matter?” he asked.

She turned and looked at him sharply. “Because you’re not the only one who’s lonely, you know?”

“I’m not lonely,” he said. “Am I?’

She sighed. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve invited a new friend and I’d just like to look nice, okay?”

“The grey and blue one is nice,” he said quietly.

“All right then,” she said. “I’ll trust you.” She disappeared again and then returned. “And what will you be wearing?” she asked him as she put the kettle on.

“Clothes, my normal clothes,” he said. “Why -- should I wear something different? This is just a lunch, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” she said. “Just -- why don’t you wear that purple shirt I got you for Christmas? I know you never have, but I also know you’ve not thrown it away. Wear it.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Just -- stop asking questions and do as I say, all right?”

“All right,” Sherlock said.

In the morning John and one other staff member loaded everything up -- there wasn't much -- and set off for the park.

Sherlock was awake and dressed at 8am. He was wearing Mrs Hudson’s gift, though it felt a little too tight on him which was making him uncomfortable so he changed it. But he still felt uncomfortable so he changed it back, just to avoid any additional hassle from her.

At eleven, he went down and knocked on her door. When she opened it, she was wearing her blue and grey dress. “You look lovely,” he said because she did.

“That’s my favourite kind of compliment -- an honest one. You don’t give them too often, so I’ll definitely take it,” she said. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Should I call and ask?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Obviously I don’t need to bring anything -- that’s what a caterer is for. It was just something to say.” She stepped out and locked her door. “Come on, then,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You look lovely, too.”

They walked the few streets over to the park, and Sherlock noticed two white-clad people setting up under the little pavilion. “Is that your man?” she asked Sherlock.

“He’s not my--” he started and stopped. “That’s the servers,” he said instead and they walked over.

John glanced up and saw Sherlock coming. "Hello," he smiled, shaking his hand. 

“Hello,” Sherlock said. “This is my -- this is Mrs Hudson. The party is for her.”

Mrs Hudson leaned over and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “And what’s your name?”

"John Watson," he smiled. "What are we celebrating today?"

Mrs Hudson glanced at Sherlock. “Nothing in particular,” she said. “It’s just something nice Sherlock decided to do for me. He’s quite kind really.”

“When is everyone arriving?” Sherlock asked abruptly.

She looked at him and then noticed one of her friends headed over. “Here’s Elise,” she said and waved her over.

“Is he here yet . . . your new friend?” he asked.

Mrs Hudson hit his arm and walked over to greet Elise.

“I don’t know anyone else but her,” Sherlock said awkwardly to John. “And you.”

"I never know anyone," John joked. "Except you now. We can hang out if you like."

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked.

"About which part?" John asked.

“Oh, you mean when you’re working you don’t know people,” Sherlock said, catching on. “But what did you mean about ‘hanging out?’”

"Like what we're doing now, only between me checking on the food and guests." John looked around the park. This was an odd thing to call a caterer for, but he didn't mention it.

“That sounds fine,” Sherlock said. But he was a bit worried -- that would probably mean more talking and he wasn’t very good at that. He glanced over at Mrs Hudson who appeared to be entertaining to a small group of people. He needed her advice. “Excuse me,” he said and moved over to her.

“It must be time to eat,” Mrs Hudson announced when she saw Sherlock. She ushered her friends toward the table.

Sherlock grabbed her arm. “It isn’t,” he said.

“Well, why did you let me tell them to sit down?”

“Because I need your advice,” he said. “I think Watson wants to talk to me.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s good,” she said. “He’s very handsome, I can see why you find him interesting.” She glanced over at John.

“But I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“Just . . . make small talk,” she said.

“About what?”

“I don’t know . . . your job --“

“I don’t have a job,” he reminded her.

“About his job then.”

“I’ve already asked about that.”

“I don’t know, Sherlock,” she said. “About music or television or the weather. Just say what comes naturally.”

“Nothing comes naturally to me,” he said. “I can’t do the things you do.”

“You can,” she said. “You just have to try something a little different.” Suddenly a man was behind them and she turned quickly. “David!” she said. “So glad you could make it.” She grabbed the man’s arm and led him to the table.

Sherlock realised this was her new friend she was so keen on impressing. He followed them over to the table, sitting next to the new man.

John and Steven started passing around the trays and offering martinis to the guests. He felt a bit silly, but he remained professional the whole time.

Sherlock watched Watson walking around and tried to smile whenever he caught his eyes. As they began to eat, he listened carefully to Mrs Hudson, who was obviously very much enjoying being the centre of attention. He tried to eat a little bit of the food and only allowed himself one drink, which he sipped slowly.

When everything was passed around, John went back to let the guests enjoy. Still he watched Sherlock.

After a while, Sherlock excused himself and wandered off to have a cigarette. And, if he were honest, to work up some courage. He came back, heading to the food area instead of the table.

“Everything tasted good,” he said, but Watson didn’t seem to hear him. He stepped closer and said it again more loudly.

John looked up. "Oh, thank you. I'm glad," he smiled.

Sherlock took a deep breath and thought about Mrs Hudson and how it all came to her so easily. “So,” he said. “Do you have grandchildren? How are they?”

"Grandchildren?" John asked. "I don't . . . do you plan to insult me every time we meet?" he asked.

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled. He moved to leave but then turned back. “When have I insulted you before?”

"I was teasing," John said. "The last time you called me fat -- you said it shows that I like to eat. Now you're calling me old," he smiled.

“You’re not old or fat,” Sherlock said. “I think you look . . . just the right age and size.”

"Well, good," John smiled. "You don’t need to leave just yet."

“All right, I won’t,” Sherlock said. He looked over at the table. Mrs Hudson was still animatedly talking and smiling. “Do you play the lottery?” he asked John.

"Not really. I'll buy a scratch ticket once in a while," he said. 

“Right,” Sherlock said. He fiddled with something on the table and then pulled his hand away. “Well . . . what do you want to talk about?”

"Tell me about yourself," John said easily.

“I’m . . . tall and I live alone and I smoke and I’m quite clever,” Sherlock said.

"Yeah?" John smiled. "What do you like to do for fun?"

“I don’t know really,” Sherlock said. “I don’t think I really have fun. What do you do?”

"I like reading, going to the park for walks, watching films."

“I like reading,” Sherlock said. Then he heard his name called and turned to see Mrs Hudson waving for him. 

He went over and she gave him a hug. “Are you having fun?” she said. 

“We were having a conversation,” he said. “I think it was going well.”

“Why don’t you invite for dinner tonight?” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It might be too much in one day . . .”

She sat down and motioned for him to do the same. She introduced him to everyone there and made a big fuss about how he’d planned the whole lunch just for her. Then she began to tell a few stories of their times together. Sherlock finished his drink and was considering getting a refill.

John rearranged the food and packed up the plates that were empty, vaguely listening to the stories being told about Sherlock. He was so difficult to read. He seemed nervous, but he also might not be interested in anything more than John's business. 

Sherlock tried to catch Watson’s eye and gave him a smile when he finally did. He wished he could sit down and talk normally with him, even though Sherlock knew he was the one who was struggling to talk normally. Maybe he just need more practice? But he didn’t think he could take Mrs Hudson’s advice and invite him out tonight. That was too much in one day -- whether he meant for Watson or for himself, he wasn’t quite sure.

Mrs Hudson was now directing people over to a big flowering bush to get pictures taken. Sherlock stayed back as long as he could. When she called for him, he took over as cameraman and then eventually gave in and posed for one with just Mrs Hudson. “Go invite him out,” she whispered to him and then started saying goodbye to her friends.

Sherlock slowly walked over toward John who was packing things up. “Hello,” he said. “I know I already told you, but things were very good. She really enjoyed this.”

John smiled. "I'm really glad," he said. 

“Good,” Sherlock said. “I guess I owe you a cheque . . . do you have a copy of the bill?”

John nodded, moving to get it for Sherlock. "I appreciate you calling me again."

Sherlock couldn’t meet John’s eyes, but he did say, “Perhaps I will again.” He wrote out the cheque and handed it to John. “Do you have more jobs today?”

"I don't have anything all week. Do you have more parties planned?"

“No, I just was wondering . . . if you were free today which you are so that’s all I was wondering,” Sherlock said. “Well, I just wanted to thank you again. I’m glad we met . . . and everything.”

“All right then,” John said.

“Okay, well, I’m sorry,” Sherlock said stupidly. “Thank you again.” He rushed off, grabbing Mrs Hudson.

“Did he say no to dinner?” she asked.

“I was unable to ask him,” he admitted.

She stopped and looked at him. “Oh Sherlock,” she said. “Why are you like you are?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But this is how I am . . . I don’t know what we’d talk about . . . I don’t know why he’d be interested in me.”

“But he’s obviously interested in you,” she said.

“How do you know?” 

She gave him a knowing look.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, I’m unusual and he’s . . . handsome,” he said. “When I start speaking to him, I sound like an idiot.”

“Well, maybe he likes idiots,” she said. “You are so frustrating, you know that, don’t you?” She gave him a squeeze and they headed home.

John could barely hide his disappointment when Sherlock rushed off. He clearly wasn't interested. John packed up and headed back to the office, trying not to feel humiliated. He didn't want to think about Sherlock anymore.


	7. Sherlock Fails Again

The next morning Sherlock decided to put the whole catering business out of his mind. He sent his brother an email, asking for more work. He spent a lot of time wording it precisely, trying to balance stroking Mycroft’s ego with having a bit of dignity. The response came quickly and Sherlock spent the next few days, engrossed in research. This was much easier to deal with.

However, the moment he was finished working, the chef creeped into his mind again. Why? Sherlock began to wonder if it weren’t “interest” that was making him think of Watson so often -- perhaps it was something else. Rather than rely on dreams and Mrs Hudson’s advice, he decided to do what he was good at: research.

He spent an entire afternoon researching John Watson. He found out quite a bit and unfortunately it was all quite interesting. It didn’t help get him out of Sherlock’s mind.

So he tried the same approach with his other concern -- ensuring Watson also found him interesting. Obviously, he was incapable of doing it via chit chat; he’d have to take a different approach. He dug through his old files, trying to find something that might impress John. This was a much better approach.

John put himself into his work a lot more. After his week off he had three jobs in a row, one fairly large so he was kept pretty busy. When he wasn't working he was practicing new recipes and creating new tray displays with them, adding pictures to the website and updating the foods available.

At the end of the week a large envelope came to the office for him with no return address. When he opened it, he found several articles from professional journals. They were all written by Sherlock. He was annoyed at first -- he was really doing his best not to think about that man, and yet here he was again. But that gave way to curiosity. Who had sent these? Why? He skimmed through them, the topics about chemical research and experiments. He couldn't really get through them. He went to throw them out, his hand hovering over the bin before he changed his mind. He put them in a drawer and went back to fiddling with the site.

Sherlock had just returned from the post office when his mother rang him. 

“Not another party?” he said when he answered.

“Don’t be such a spoil sport,” she said. “It’s not that. I just wanted to hear how it was going with Mycroft.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He should’ve known his mother had something to do with his brother’s offer. “I thought it was top secret what I was working on,” he said.

“I don’t know details obviously,” she said. “He just mentioned it. Is it good? He says you’re doing very well.”

Sherlock was quite pleased that his brother had made the comment, but he didn’t let on. “It’s fine,” he said. 

“Maybe he could get you a full time position?”

“We’ll see,” he said. “Is this phone call to nag me about my lack of a career?”

She sighed. “Sherlock Holmes, no one is nagging you. We know you are doing your best -- we’re proud of everything you’ve overcome and we know you’ll find your place eventually. No one gives you any grief except yourself.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that so he said nothing.

“Anyway,” she said. “Let’s not get distracted by that. How are you doing otherwise?”

“Fine,” he said.

She sighed again. “You’re in a talkative mood,” she said sarcastically. “How’s your friend?”

“Who?”

“The chef . . . from the party,” she said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Do you really not?” she asked.

He stayed silent again.

“I see,” she said. “So you do have some idea. All right . . . I won’t ‘nag’ you about that either. Well, it was excellent talking with you.”

“Anything else?” he asked. He felt incredibly stupid and childish and wanted to make that feeling go away. 

“That’s it for now,” she said. “We love you, though, don’t forget. We’re here if you need anything.”

When he hung up, he decided to take a nap. He ended up dreaming of John again and when he woke up, he still felt embarrassed. His dream had been silly and romantic, like it could have come straight out of a ridiculous film. And the worst thing about it is that it’d been terribly lovely. He was going to have to do something about this problem as soon as possible.

John hadn't looked at the packet of articles since he’d got them, but he did get several more things as the week passed. An anonymous email sent him a link to Sherlock's website, something like a blog detailing the differences between 200 different tobaccos. He also received a book with a note on the first page about it being one of Sherlock's favourites.

He was starting to get worried -- he couldn't begin to understand what the motive for all of this was since, if Sherlock had been interested, he probably would have made that clear by now. Two days after the book arrived, John was getting ready to leave the office when the phone rang. He considered letting it go to voicemail, but at the last minute changed his mind and answered.

“The Noble Bachelor,” he said.

“John Watson,” Sherlock said. “This is Sherlock Holmes. Have you been busy or well . . . have you been well?”

John glanced at the drawer filled with Sherlock's things. "Both, actually. Well and also busy. How are you?"

“I’ve been well and busy,” Sherlock said. “Are you too busy to take a booking?”

John was starting to wonder if he was being pranked. "No," he said, sitting down again. "What day?"

“This weekend,” Sherlock said. “Evening. Friday or Saturday would work -- are you free for either?”

"I'm free on both. What are you planning?" John asked.

“A small meal, just two guests,” Sherlock said. “Do you have any suggestions for food?”

"Just two? I'm sorry, but there's a minimum . . . I mean, I did the six because I thought, well, it doesn't matter. There has to be at least ten people. Usually."

“Oh, I see,” Sherlock said, a bit deflated. “That’s fine . . . would you mind making any suggestions? I trust you, and if I have to call someone else, it’d be easier to say precisely what I’d like.”

"I'm not sure I know anyone that will just cater for two guests, I'm sorry," he said. He looked at the drawer again and wished he knew what this was all about.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to locate someone,” Sherlock said. “Any suggestions on food, though, if I wanted the meal to be . . . romantic?”

John had to press the phone against his thigh so Sherlock wouldn't hear the disbelieving laugh that burst out of him. Was he really asking for dating advice? He wanted John to cater a date? He took a breath to compose himself and lifted the phone again. "It’s really about what you like. It’s not about the food as much as the atmosphere," he said. 

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “Good. I suppose that’s all I need. I’ll see what I can find and will contact you the next time I need catering for a large event. Thank you. Have a good day.” He hung up the phone. That didn’t quite go as he planned, but he’d have to make the best of it.


	8. Sherlock's New Idea

By Friday morning, Sherlock was feeling as confident as he assumed he’d ever be. He was partially regretting not seeking Mrs Hudson’s advice, but he knew this was something he had to do himself.

He poured himself a cup of tea, lit a cigarette, and picked up his phone.

John tried to put Sherlock out of his mind, especially the thought of him planning a romantic date for someone. Why would he call? Sherlock didn't seem cruel enough to call and rub it in his face. None of it made any sense. He was clicking through the new uploads on the website when Melissa answered a call, making him look up.

Sherlock had been expecting John to answer. “Melissa?” he said stupidly. “Could I speak with Chef John Watson, please?”

"John, it's for you," she said, transferring the call. 

He picked up the phone. "John here," he said.

“Hello, Chef Watson,” Sherlock said. “This is Sherlock Holmes. I’m calling to book an event.”

"Oh. Melissa could have taken the details," he said. "What day is the event?" 

“It’s in a few weeks, but it’s quite large and incredibly important,” Sherlock said, ignoring the first comment. “What I was hoping is that we could meet in advance and discuss the details -- this one is too important to do via email.”

"Oh. Well, I suppose I can do that. When are you free to meet?" 

“Tonight?”

John looked at his schedule. "Okay. What time?"

“Anytime would work for me,” Sherlock said, trying to sound casual. “Eight o’clock?”

"Okay, sure. Where will we meet?" 

“I’ll be working -- could you come here? The address is 221B Baker Street,” Sherlock suggested.

John scribbled down the address. "Yeah, sure," he said. "I can do that."

“Would you mind giving me a quick call before you head over?” Sherlock said. “So I wrap things up and focus while you’re here.”

"Sure. I still have you number from the first event," John said.

“I’m glad,” Sherlock said. “See you later then.”

He hung up the phone and then sat down. That had been exhausting, but he’d done it. He was going to see Chef John Watson tonight. He smoked two more cigarettes with another cup of tea and then he started getting ready.

John hung up the phone and leaned back in his seat. He couldn’t think of anything more bizarre than the interactions he’d had so far with Sherlock Holmes. He got up and told Melissa he was leaving early to meet with a client.

Sherlock finished getting the flat ready and then concentrated on himself. Keeping busy helped with the nerves a little, but he ended up finishing two hours early. He went downstairs to talk to Mrs Hudson but wouldn’t go into the flat until she promised not to talk about tonight. He wanted to be distracted until it was almost time for John to arrive.

John took a shower and groomed more than he needed to for a business meeting, but he knew what he was really hoping for. But he wasn't going to say it, even to himself. He didn't want a repeat of the other day. When he was ready, he called Sherlock to let him know he was getting in the taxi. 

Sherlock was now standing at his window, watching the street. He had about ten minutes to change his mind about all this, but he was determined not to. If his plan failed, if it turned out John wasn’t interested or maybe even that Sherlock was not as interested as he thought, if any of that happened, he had to be a grown up and handle it. When he saw the taxi pull up, he did his finishing touches and went downstairs to the door where he concentrated on his breathing until he heard the knock.

“Chef Watson,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice stable. “Thank you for coming. We’re upstairs.” He turned and moved to the staircase, waiting for Watson to go up first.

“You can call me John,” John reminded him and started climbing up. He walked in and looked around. It was a bit messy on the edges, like he'd hurried to clean up. There was papers and envelops, a stuffed book shelf, beakers and science books . . . he didn't know where to look first. But when he turned to the kitchen, he saw the table was covered with a purple table cloth, and there were flowers in the middle and two candles. Two places were set with a wine bottle out to air. His stomach twisted. Was the date Sherlock had called about tonight? Was this a trick to get John to act as waiter? He looked away from the table and turned to face Sherlock. 

“I made some food for us,” Sherlock said. “To eat while we talk.” He headed to the kitchen and picked up the glasses. “We’re just talking, right -- you’re not really working -- so would you like a glass of wine?”

John suddenly noticed soft music playing. He nodded. "Okay, sure. Technically I'm not working," he said.

Sherlock smiled and poured two glasses, handing one to John. He sat down at the table and motioned for John to do the same. He took a sip and then said, “I have something to confess.”

"Did you invite me over as a trick to cater your date?" John asked.

“What? No. I didn’t trick you, I don’t think,” Sherlock said. “When I called earlier this week, I just asked you for a booking and then I asked your advice. You answered those honestly.” He took a sip of wine followed by a deep breath. “The confession is that I am not planning a large party -- that was somewhat of an untruth. However, I wanted you to come over here so that seemed a reasonable white lie to tell to ensure you would come.”

John looked at the flowers and candles. "But why didn't you just ask me?”

Sherlock sighed. “Because I don’t work quite like that,” he admitted. “Mrs Hudson says I enjoy complicating things. I don’t enjoy it, but it is what I seem to do.”

John nodded slowly. "I see. So . . . no pressure. Just tell me candidly how you feel." He gave him a little smile.

Sherlock took another sip of wine. “I’m . . . interested in you,” he stated. “I want to say that I understand if you do not feel the same -- obviously I am not very skilled at all this, but I felt I finally needed to do something since my . . . interest feels quite strong.”

John watched him for a moment. "Well, I'm interested as well," he announced. 

“I don’t know why,” Sherlock mumbled, looking away for a second. “I’m glad though,” he said before taking another sip of wine.

“I want to know more about you, I suppose,” John said.

“Well, I tried to let you know a few things about me . . . did you get the things I sent you?”

"You sent all that?" John asked. "I didn't really know what to make of it all."

Sherlock looked down again. “I just didn’t know how else to . . . show you who I am,” he said. “I wanted to . . . paint a realistic picture so you knew what you were getting into.”

"I prefer this, talking," John said. "I’m sensing that's not so easy for you, but maybe you can tell me about that thing you sent? In more detail?"

“Really?” Sherlock asked. “I thought you might find it boring . . .”

John shook his head. "I don't find you boring."

“Well, that’s intriguing,” Sherlock said, trying not to reveal his relief. Just then a bell sounded. “It’s time to eat,” he said. He stood up and set the wine bottle to the table. Then he leaned over and retrieved the food from the oven, grabbing a few other dishes. Then he opened the fridge and pulled out a bowl of salad. “I hope you like it,” he said. “I didn’t cook any of it.”

John laughed as he looked at the food. "No one cooks for me," he said. "This is nice."

“Well, I just hope you like it,” Sherlock said. “I tried to do things that you might like.”

"I'm not picky about food," John grinned.

“Don’t tell lies,” Sherlock said. “Lying doesn’t seem to suit you and besides I always know when people lie.”

"You lied about the event," John smiled, topping up their glasses.

“That’s different. And besides, something could still come up. . .” Sherlock said. He realised he was a little more relaxed. “Why don’t you tell me about you -- the real you, not things I could find on your Facebook or random webpages.” He wasn’t sure if that implied he’d already done the research.

"Um, let's see. When I was little I wanted to be a doctor. But my sister broke her arm and it was twisted funny and it made me get sick. So I had to change my mind." John smiled. "My mum always baked, so I started there. Kitchens are too loud and running your own restaurant requires a lot of money, so I am catering."

“Logical,” Sherlock said. “And you enjoy it?”

"I do, yeah," John nodded. "What about you? What do you do?"

“I’m not quite employed at the moment,” Sherlock said. “I’m still . . . investigating my options, I suppose. I have an income but I haven’t quite found my . . . place, I suppose is the right word.”

"Oh. Well, what sort of things do you like?" he asked. 

“I like figuring things out,” Sherlock admitted. “For example, I found you intriguing and now I know why. I don’t suppose there are many jobs where that skill’s required.”

"I hope I wasn't just a puzzle to solve," John said.

“I would hardly say I’ve got you solved,” Sherlock said. “I think you’re more complicated than you let on. But I know enough for now.”

"Do you like what you know already?"

“Very much,” Sherlock said. “Obviously, you’re physically attractive . . . I presume you must know I find you attractive. But, if you knew me well, you’d know I am not particularly swayed simply by physical desires. It’s something more . . . I like it so far.”

John flushed lightly. "Well, good. That's good," he smiled. 

Sherlock smiled back -- he couldn’t help it, he didn’t even mean to, but he did. He ate a few bites of his meal. “I’ve got dessert as well,” he said shyly.

"Yeah?" John smiled. "What is it?"

“Some kind of fluffy things with some fruit you can pour,” he said. “I’m sure it tastes better than my explanation.” He picked up the bottle of wine. “We’ve finished it,” he said, unnecessarily.

"Well, there was two of us," John said. 

Sherlock stood up and retrieved the dessert, setting it down on the table before quickly taking away the dirty plates. “I hope it’s good,” Sherlock said. “So what do you usually do on a Friday if you’re not working?” he asked.

"It depends. I like experimenting with new recipes sometimes, adding to the list for more business."

“You seem very dedicated to your work,” Sherlock said. “Admirable,” he added.

John smiled. "Yeah, I'm trying to drum up business."

“Your website looks good -- I like that you keep it updated,” Sherlock said. “I mean, with the new photos. That exposure should help . . . it’s how I found you.”

John grinned. "I'm glad you think so. Your website . . . it was interesting."

“That’s kind of you. I don’t think you mean it, but I won’t accuse you of lying,” Sherlock said. “I find it very interesting obviously, and I suppose creating it in the first place was just as an act of showing off. But I know most other people think it’s quite boring.”

John bit his lip. "Well, I admit I didn't read it all but . . .it is interesting.”

“To me at least,” Sherlock said. He looked over. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

"It was very good, yes. And the dessert too," he smiled.

“Are you glad you came over?”

John nodded. "I am now," he smiled. "This was a nice surprise. I was worried there was no chance after the park."

“You liked me at the park?” Sherlock asked, surprised. “I didn’t think I came off that well . . .” He stopped and took a finished off the last of his wine. “I’m afraid I might have to disappoint you now."

“Why? What’s up?"

“As I said, I’m not very experienced with all this business so it took me quite a bit of work to plan this evening,” Sherlock admitted. “However, I mainly focused on the arrival and dinner. I’ve literally no plan for what to do next.”

John smiled. "Do you want to go for a walk or something?"

“All right,” Sherlock said. He stood up and they headed downstairs. He was worried Mrs Hudson would come out and harass them, but she didn’t. “Are we heading any in particular?” he asked.

"I don't know the area very well. Do you have a favourite spot?" John asked.

“Let’s walk this way,” Sherlock said. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one and then offering the box to John.

John shook his head. "What do you have in mind?" he asked.

“It’s a place that’s a little quieter,” Sherlock said.

The walked a little bit and then Sherlock led them down a little pathway to a small, old cemetery. He walked up to a small bench and sat down. “This okay?” he asked. 

John nodded as he sat down. He looked around the deserted cemetery. "This is an interesting spot."

“I suppose some might find it unsettling,” Sherlock said. “But I’m not bothered by the idea of spirits or ghosts. I find the quiet useful for thinking.”

"What do you usually think about?"

“I don’t always know, I suppose,” Sherlock said honestly. “Sometimes I think about my past and sometimes I think about my future. Sometimes I just clear my head and do my best to think about nothing.”

John nodded. "It's good to have a place like that."

“What do you think about when you’re in quiet places?”

"Hmm. I think about my future and mull over memories, things like that."

“I see,” Sherlock said. He looked out into the greenery and blurred his eyesight for a moment. Finally, he said, “Is our evening coming to an end?”

"Maybe soon," John said. "Do you mind if I kiss you?"

“No, I don’t think I’d mind at all,” Sherlock said, looking over, trying to remain as casual as he could.

John leaned over and moved closer to Sherlock, looking up at him. He held Sherlock's gaze as he touched Sherlock's cheek softly, sliding his hand back a bit before closing the space and pressing his mouth to Sherlock's.

Sherlock kissed John back, his hand lifting to squeeze John’s arm. He got lost in the kiss for a moment and then pulled back. “That was quite nice,” he said softly. “I hadn’t expected that, but I definitely enjoyed it.”

John smiled. "That was really nice. I've wanted to do that for a while."

“Have you?” Sherlock said. “God, I really am inept at all this. I didn’t think there was a chance that you even wanted to see me, let alone do that with me.”

John smiled. "Well, I’m happy to keep doing it until you’re convinced," he said.

“That sounds acceptable to me,” Sherlock said, smiling genuinely as he stood up. “I think we should get going now. I’ll get you a taxi home.”

John nodded his agreement. As they walked out to the road again, John reached for Sherlock's hand. 

Sherlock lifted his other hand to hail a cab. “Can I see you again? Soon?” he asked John.

"I would like that a lot," he nodded.

“Tomorrow night?”

"I have a job this weekend, but I'll be free on Monday.”

“Monday it is then,” Sherlock said with a wide grin. “Let’s go out to your favourite restaurant -- think about it over the weekend and let me know, yeah?”

"I will," he smiled. John leaned up for a quick kiss.

A taxi pulled up and Sherlock opened the door for John and then leaned inside and gave the driver some money. “Text me when you get home, yeah?” he said to John.

John tried to stop him paying, but Sherlock insisted. "I will. I'll see you soon. Thank you."

Sherlock smiled, watched the taxi pull away, and walked home. Still smiling.


	9. Success

In the morning, Sherlock woke to a knock at his door. For some ridiculous reason, he thought it might be John, but when he sat up in bed, he realised who it would be. He dragged himself up and opened the door.

“Good morning!” Mrs Hudson said in an obnoxiously cheerful way.

“Come in,” he mumbled, moving toward the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Before you asked, the dinner went well, we talked for a while, and we kissed.”

Mrs Hudson did her best to keep her surprise to herself. “You don’t owe me any details,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” She sat herself down at the table, looking over at him. “That said . . . since you brought it up . . . did you enjoy the kissing?”

“Obviously I enjoyed the kissing,” he said, not turning around. “Firstly, I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t enjoy and secondly, I am human, you know.”

“I know you’re human . . . usually,” she said. “But not all humans like that business . . . I was just checking.”

He brought two mugs over and sat down with her. “Well, I did like it,” he said. “I’m still quite anxious about it all . . . but I continue to find him interesting so that’s what I intend to focus on.”

“Good,” she said. “Good for you.” She lifted her cup in a small toast and took a sip.

John prepped his next job, working in one of the best moods he'd been in for a while now. Meeting interesting people was part of the job, but Sherlock was something different. Something more. He couldn’t wait to see him again. 

Sherlock decided not to call or text John (or stalk him online) over the weekend. On Sunday night, though, he decided getting in touch was entirely reasonable to find out what was going on with their date on Monday. He made himself a fresh cup of tea and settled in on the sofa, grabbing his phone.

_I hope work went well this weekend. Do you still want to get together tomorrow? SH_

_Yes, I can't wait. -JW_

_Have you chosen your favourite restaurant? SH_

_I have. It's a Thai place, is that okay? -JW_

_Excellent. Should we meet there or should I bring a taxi to yours? SH_

_We can meet there. -JW_

_Seven o’clock? SH_

_That's perfect. Did you have a good weekend? -JW_

_It was fine, probably not as busy as yours. SH_

_Yeah, it was a moderate event. But nothing I couldn't handle. -JW_

Sherlock pictured John in his chef’s uniform and smiled. Then he thought of something, but wasn’t sure whether or not to say it. He decided to risk it; texting made it a little easier.

_Did you meet any handsome clients? SH_

_One. We're actually going to dinner tomorrow night. -JW_

Sherlock’s face flushed even though he was alone.

_I’m looking forward to it. Text me if anything changes. Otherwise I’ll see you at seven. SH_

_See you tomorrow night, Sherlock. -JW_

Sherlock sat and finished his tea, thinking about the date. Which is primarily what he did until five o’clock Monday evening when he began tidying the flat and getting ready. He was waiting outside the restaurant at ten to seven, sneaking in a quick cigarette before John arrived.

John let himself have a relaxed day, reading and watching movies until it was time to start getting ready. 

When John walked up Sherlock dropped the cigarette and waved to get his attention. He moved over toward him, smiling. “Hello,” he said. “You made it.”

"I did make it," he smiled. "Hungry?"

“Possibly,” Sherlock said, holding the door open for John. They went in and got a table in back. After getting some wine first, they skimmed through the menu. Sherlock paid close attention to what John said sounded good, and he ordered one of those items. As they waited for the food to come, they talked about their weekends and the week to come.

John enjoyed the conversation. It seemed like Sherlock was more at ease with the talk, which made John even more comfortable.

Sherlock found himself laughing a number of times -- it felt like it had been forever since he’d laughed so freely. When they finished eating, he let John order dessert and even ate a few bites of it. They were just getting ready to go when Sherlock’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He wasn’t sure whether or not to answer it, so he didn’t, but then it kept on vibrating. He pulled it out and saw a text from his brother. “Sorry,” he said to John and quickly read it over. “Well, it looks like I’ve got some work this week.”

"That's great! What will you be doing?"

Sherlock quickly texted a reply then set his phone down on the table. “With the police this time, it appears,” he said. “They’ve asked my brother for some help and he’s asked me.” He was trying to make sense of it all in his head. “Look, let’s go for a walk or something. I should get back earlier than I expected but I’m not ready for the evening to be over yet.” He set some money down on the table and held John’s arm as they walked out. “Let’s go for a little walk before we end our evening, okay?”

They walked for a little while, Sherlock leading them in a big circle until they were closer to John’s flat. “Would you like me to walk you the rest of way home?” he asked.

"You don't have to, it's not too far from here," John said as they stopped for a moment.

Sherlock looked over at John. “I’d like to kiss you good night,” he said stupidly.

John smiled. "I wouldn't say no."

Sherlock leaned in and gave John a soft kiss. “I quite like that,” he said with a smile.

John smiled and kissed him again, a bit longer before falling back. "Me too," he said. "Tonight was nice. I hope I can see you again soon."

“Then let’s choose a time now,” Sherlock said. “I know your schedule could change and perhaps now mine could as well. But let’s decide now so we both walk away knowing we’ll meet again.”

"How about Thursday?" John asked after checking his phone.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “It’s a date then. But I hope I speak to you before that.”

"I'm sure we will," he smiled. "Thursday is too far."

“This evening was very enjoyable,” Sherlock said. “I’ll speak to you soon.” He leaned in and gave him another kiss.

John leaned in for a longer kiss before reluctantly pulling back. "See you soon."

Sherlock headed back to the flat. He enjoyed a cigarette and a cup of tea when he got home and then got into bed much earlier than he had in months. He was relaxed from the evening, but slightly anxious about what was to come with this work with the police.

Fortunately Sherlock was pleased to find out that it was an extremely complicated murder case, involving poisons which was something he knew quite a bit about. He was also secretly pleased with the fact that it was quite confidential, which meant that the police as well as his brother trusted him. He worked through most of the evening, but sent John a text before it got too late.

_How was your day? SH_

_Busy. I've been running around for ingredients all day. -JW_

_I’ve been around London all day today -- send a list if you’d like me to stop anywhere for you. SH_

_That's very sweet, but I'm getting along fine. Did you get to work with the police? How was it? -JW_

_Very challenging. I’m mostly doing research, and I’m close to putting it all together. I can’t share details, but I would not be unhappy if I got to do more work like this. SH_

_It looks like you found your calling. -JW_

_We’ll see. Perhaps if I have an income, you won’t need to feel ashamed by me. SH_

John crinkled his brow.

_I'm not ashamed of you. What makes you think that? -JW_

Sherlock ignored the question.

_Will I still see you Thursday? SH_

_Of course you will. I can't wait to see you. -JW_

_Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. SH_

Sherlock lit a cigarette and finished his tea, before getting up and getting back to work.


	10. More Success

Thursday night came and so did their next dinner. This time Sherlock picked the restaurant -- he also paid for the meal, despite not officially getting paid yet. However, DI Lestrade had seemed very impressed with his work and said he’d contact him directly if he needed him again. This pleased Sherlock to no end -- eliminating his brother as the middle man made receiving a pay cheque even better.

After dinner they went on another walk, talking about their weeks. Sherlock told John a few details that he probably shouldn’t have, but he was in no doubt that the secrets were safe with him. They kissed goodbye near John’s flat with Sherlock agreeing to text him when he got home. He did and then again when he started to fall asleep, just to say good night.

John easily fell into a routine of fitting in dates with Sherlock between his jobs. Sometimes he took Sherlock shopping with him, though he was sure Sherlock was only trying to be nice by keeping John company -- shopping for party supplies was boring, especially compared to the work Sherlock was doing with the police. John loved hearing about it. Sherlock always looked so excited and happy when he talked about it. It was a good feeling to be able to watch Sherlock find his calling. At the end of every date they always took a walk and kissed good night.

Sherlock had solved the last case Lestrade had given him and was walking home feeling quite happy with himself. And with life really, which was a rather unusual feeling for him. He saw Mrs Hudson on the corner and they walked back together.

“You look like the cat who just swallowed the canary,” Mrs Hudson said, passing one of her shopping bags to him to carry.

“Do I?” he asked. “I thought I’d cleaned all the feathers off,” he added, quickly wiping a hand over his smiling face.

“What’s got into you?”

“I’ve solved three cases for the police,” he said proudly. “And John.”

“You’ve solved cases for John?”

“No,” he said. “You know what I mean.”

“That’s going well then?”

“Yes,” he said. “Better than well. We speak every day. In fact, I’d happily see him everyday. I wish I could see him everyday.” He let Mrs Hudson unlock the door while he held her bags.

She stepped inside and turned to look him, blocking his way.

“Let me through,” he said, confused.

“What are you saying, Sherlock Holmes?” she asked.

“I--” he stammered. “I don’t know what you mean -- what am I saying about what?”

“Are you saying you are in love with this man?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t say that -- I just said I wish I could see him all the time.”

“Like live with him? Like you want him to move in here?” she asked.

Sherlock thought for a second as he shifted the bags in his arms. “Yes, fine,” he said. “Is that what you want me to say? Can I come in now?”

She looked at him and reached over to take one of the bags. “You can come in, but we’re dropping these off at mine and then going upstairs for a talk.”

He followed her and when they got upstairs, she went straight to the kitchen to make some tea. He took off his coat and then stood around a bit stupidly before sitting down. She came in, handed him a cup and sat down opposite him.

“Have you told John you loved him?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Did he love John? It seemed Mrs Hudson had accepted he did.

“Has he told you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Have you . . . shown each other that you do?” she asked cautiously.

“I have no idea what you’re asking me,” he said. “We go out quite frequently, we text each other or call everyday, we tell each other things. He makes me feel quite satisfied with life, I suppose. I like how things are. Is that the kind of thing you’re asking about?”

She looked at him carefully. “So I’m right that you love him?” she clarified.

He took a sip of tea. “Well, yes, I guess I probably do if you think so,” he said. He hadn’t really given his feelings a word, but he trusted her and it did seem right. “And unless he’s been lying to me, I think he must feel the same. You know I’m not very good at this business, but if how I act means I love him, then how he acts must mean he feels the same. Makes sense, right?”

She gave a tentative nod. “And you really think you’d like him to move in?” she asked. “Live here . . . all the time . . . even if you’re in one of your moods.”

“Well, he’s already seen me look like an idiot on a number of occasions, don’t forget.” Sherlock said, scanning his memory. “And he’s seen me focused and he’s seen me annoyed . . . he’s never seen me drunk -- do you think he should see me drunk before I ask him to move in?”

She took a sip of tea and tried to think of a way to ask her next question. “You mentioned he makes you feel quite satisfied . . .” she said. “Could you elaborate on that feeling?" 

“Satisfied,” he said. “Quite self explanatory, I would think.”

“Physically?”

“Well, it’s hard to say,” he said, stretching his legs out. “I have been sleeping much better since I met him, but since I’ve been working, I’m just so much busier so it could be that as well . . .” He looked over at her. “Oh my god, you don’t mean ‘physically’ at all, do you? You mean sexually.” He couldn’t decide if he felt shocked or embarrassed so he kept his face quite neutral.

“Well, that’s important to a relationship,” she said.

“To some relationships,” he said. “Not to all.”

She felt her face drop a little. “So there’s none of that . . . I thought you said you liked when you kissed?”

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment, not quite sure if this was an appropriate thing to talk to her about. Then again, he didn’t really have anyone else to talk to about any of this. “Yes, I liked when we kiss,” he said quietly.

“But . . . more?”

“More what? Have we done more? Would I like more?” he asked. “This is awkward enough -- be more specific so this conversation can end.”

“Have you had sex with John Watson?” she asked bluntly.

“No, I have not,” he answered.

“Do you think you want to?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

She took another sip. “The reason I’m asking is not to pry into your life, Sherlock. It’s just . . . you know, in the modern world, things are usually done in a certain way--” She stopped abruptly and said, “Don’t roll your eyes at me -- I know ‘the usual’ is not your way, but it might be John’s. All I’m saying is that moving in together is quite a big step . . . and it’s usually a step that follows other steps . . . steps you don’t seem to have taken yet . . .”

“You’re being imprecise again,” he said. “Do you mean I should not ask John to move in here before we have sex?”

She sighed. “Yes, Sherlock, that is exactly what I’m saying,” she said. “John seems like he might be a little more . . . traditional than you, and jumping to living together might confuse him.” She looked over. “You don’t seem confused about what you want -- do you think John knows how you feel . . . about all of it?”

“About sex?”

“About all of it,” she said before adding, “Including sex.”

“I keep wanting to kiss him,” he said. “Surely that tells him something, doesn’t it?”

“Possibly,” she said. She got up and took her mug to the sink. “Maybe you should talk about things a little -- your feelings about him . . . or sex . . . before you jump into living together.” She tousled his hair as she passed him on the way to the door.

Sherlock tipped the rest of his tea into his mouth. He pulled out his phone and sent John a text.

_When is your next night off? SH_

John was on the office phone with a client when his mobile lit up on the desk. He reached for it, already smiling, and missing the client's last question. When she shouted a bit he looked up from his phone and flushed lightly, apologising and answering quickly. When he got off the phone Melissa was staring with her brows raised.

"Letting the business down just for a text from your new man?” she teased.

John rolled his eyes. "Hilarious,” he said.

“Is he as good as he looks?”

“I wouldn't know,” he mumbled under his breath.

"What?” she said, stepping closer. “It's been ages!" 

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked irritably. 

She laughed. "Oh, come on now. I'm only teasing.”

"Yes well, thank you for your approval. Now if you please . . ." He waved his hand to shoo her away and picked up his mobile.

_I'll be off this whole weekend. -JW_

_I’d like to see you as soon as possible. Friday evening at six? SH_

_That's perfect. Dinner? I could cook for us. -JW_

_Perhaps Saturday night? I’d like to take you out Friday. SH_

_Okay, sure. Where shall I meet you? -JW_

_I’ll send a taxi to pick you up at 6. It’s supposed to rain. SH_

_I can get one and meet you, I don't mind. -JW_

_Special treat. SH_


	11. Sherlock's Next New Idea

On Thursday night, Sherlock went to bed smiling to himself. As embarrassing as it was talking to Mrs Hudson about all this, she really was quite a bit of help. However, when he woke up Friday, he was overwhelmed with anxiety. He had a feeling that some of it was probably ‘usual,’ but he didn’t like it at all. He knew there was only way to deal with it. He grabbed his phone and sent a text to his brother as a distraction.

_Don’t arrange any work for me for a while. SH_

He set the phone on his chest and counted to ten.

_What’s going on? MH_

_I’m getting regular work on my own now. I just wanted you to know. SH_

This time there was a longer pause before the reply -- Mycroft was probably trying to reach Lestrade.

_He’s pleased with your work, but there are no guarantees. Don’t burn bridges, Sherlock. MH_

_We’ll see. SH_

_What’s that supposed to mean? MH_

Now Sherlock waited before replying a few minutes later.

_I’m letting you know that my schedule has changed, and you can’t assume I’ll be at your beck and call. I’m being a responsible adult. That’s all. SH_

He turned off his phone and set up. There. Yes, he was anxious but he would see this plan through and he would handle whatever came from it. Why? Because he was a responsible adult now -- he’d just proven that to his brother and to himself.

John was ready to go an hour early, just in case. When the taxi arrived, he hurried out and sent a text to let Sherlock know he was properly on his way.

Sherlock checked himself in the mirror one more time; he looked the same as he did the last twenty times he’d checked. He slipped his coat out and made his way to the restaurant. He’d timed everything perfectly -- he arrived a few moments before John’s taxi pulled up. He opened the door for him.

John smiled up at Sherlock, kissing him before going inside. "This looks very nice. Fancy," he smiled.

“It’s all right,” Sherlock said. He led them to the maitre d’ who then led to their table, removing the reserved sign. Once they’d sat down, Sherlock asked, “Do you mind if I order for you?”

John shook his head. "I've not had French in ages, I trust you," he smiled.

Sherlock filed that remark away. The server came over and Sherlock ordered with the waiter answering a question and then nodding before disappearing. Sherlock looked over. “Wine’s on its way,” he said.

John blinked. "That was impressive. Where did you learn French?" he asked.

“In school,” Sherlock said. “And we went on holiday a few summers when I was young.”

The waiter brought the wine over, letting Sherlock taste it. He took too big of a sip but then nodded, and the waiter filled their glasses. When he left, Sherlock lifted his glass and said, “I’m very glad we met, John Watson.” They clinked glasses and then Sherlock asked, “How was work today?”

"I was doing a lot of prep work. Setting up trays so they're oven ready, arranging platters that will make rounds around the room, things like that. It was all right. Did you do anything interesting today?" 

“Not today,” Sherlock said. “I feel relatively confident the police will keep calling. I wish I could find something to do in between cases.”

John smiled. "I know you get bored easily but don't worry. Like you said, they'll keep you busy."

“What if they don’t?” Sherlock said. “What should I do with my time? Just sit around and wait for you to come home?”

John grinned, as it seemed an odd thing to say. "Make a website or something,” he said. “And find your own cases."

Sherlock looked over quickly. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I have a website. How would I find cases?”

"I don't know,” John said. “Maybe do something more like a blog or something. Write about some of the cases you've solved already so people will know about them. They'll be so impressed they'll want to hire you."

“Hire me to do what?” Sherlock asked, his brain going a million miles an hour. “Solve murders?”

"Well, I don't know how many murders the general public will pass along but there will probably be other mysteries -- people hire detectives, you know," he shrugged.

Sherlock thought for a moment. It could actually work. He took a sip of wine. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Let’s talk about this weekend. Are you still willing to cook me dinner tomorrow?”

"Of course," he nodded. "What's your favourite meal?"

“I have no idea,” Sherlock said. “Can’t you just choose? I’ve liked everything you’ve made so far. I’ll buy the ingredients--” He stopped when the waiter came over and set down a plate.

“Do you like oysters?” Sherlock asked John.

John nodded.

Sherlock took an oyster from the plate and slid it into his mouth. “I don’t eat them very often,” he said. “But they’re nice on certain occasions.”

John smiled as he took one. "These are considered aphrodisiacs."

“Are they?” Sherlock said casually. “Well, I like the taste.” He swallowed a bit of wine before taking another.

John also sipped his wine and took another one. 

“I hope you like the rest of my choices.”

"I trust you," John said.

They talked a bit more about Sherlock’s work. He gave John a few more details about the last case -- it wasn’t governmental and the man had been arrested, so there seemed no reason to keep it private. Plus he trusted John. Obviously, he trusted John now. 

He’d just topped up their glasses when the food arrived. “Yours is duck with orange and ginger,” he said. “I’ve got prawns with apricot and lime chutney. We can switch if you’d like. Or share.”

"Let's share, everything looks amazing," John smiled.

“I hope you like it,” Sherlock said. He took a bite of his. It was quite good. He took a bite off of John’s plate. “Yours is nice as well,” he said.

"You chose very well in that sexy French," he smiled. 

“It was accurate,” Sherlock said. “But I don’t know about sexy . . . maybe the food’s effects are kicking in,” he added with a cheeky smile.

"Oh? Is there a theme to this meal, then?"

Sherlock didn’t answer and just took a sip of wine. “Don’t eat too much,” he said. “We still have dessert coming.”

They finished eating dinner -- Sherlock making sure he ate some but not too much. As they were finishing up, the waiter brought over their desserts.

“Roasted apricot with honey and banana cake with fig sauce,” the man said.

“Which do you want?” Sherlock asked John.

"Can we share again?" John asked.

“Whatever you’d like,” Sherlock said. “Make sure you try both.” He scooped up some banana cake.

John smiled and did have some of both while they finished their wine. 

Once they were finished, Sherlock paid for the meal and then helped John on with his jacket. “Shall we take a walk?” he asked.

John nodded. "This was a really great night, Sherlock. Everything was so good."

“Everything was,” Sherlock said. “Life on the whole has been . . . good since I met you.”

John smiled warmly. "Yes, it has," he agreed. 

Sherlock linked his arm with John’s and just smiled as they walked in silence for a while. Soon they were turning the corner onto Baker Street. He stopped them in front of his door. “Well, we’re here,” he said, turning to face John. “I suppose we should good night.” But instead of giving him their usual good night kiss, he lifted his hands to John’s face and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “Unless you’d like to come upstairs with me . . .” he said softly.

John huffed out a soft breath. "I think I would like to come up," he nodded.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Sherlock said with a smile. He unlocked the front door and led them upstairs, letting John into the flat first.

The music Sherlock had left playing softly filled the room along with the scent of the fresh flowers he had on every table. He stepped in, took off his coat, and led John to the kitchen where he had two wine glasses and a bottle sitting. He opened the wine and poured some into each glass, handing one to John and then lifting his own. “I usually end the night with a cup of tea, but I thought this might be nicer this evening,” he said.

John nodded, taking a sip of wine. "I think tea is more to help you wind down for sleeping," he said, watching Sherlock.

“Are you tired?” Sherlock asked, moving over to the sofa.

"Not really, you?" John asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Sherlock said. He took a sip of wine and then set the glass on the table. “I find you incredibly interesting on many levels, John Watson,” he said, looking over.

John smiled, taking one more sip before setting his glass down as well.

“One of those levels is . . . sexually,” Sherlock said. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware.”

John's body warmed, every nerve lighting up. "Well, it's good I feel the same way, then."

“Well, that’s very reassuring to hear,” Sherlock said. He scooted a little closer and put his arm around the back of the sofa behind John. He brushed his fingers over the material of John’s shirt. “Should we do something about that?”

John nodded, tilting his face up closer to Sherlock. "I think we should."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John’s mouth. This was a different kiss than they’d had before, hungrier. John arched closer to him, one hand sliding back to lace in Sherlock's hair. He'd thought about this so much, each date ending with more and more of these feelings building up, pushed back for another time. 

Sherlock shifted his body, turning slightly so John’s back pushed against the sofa. His kiss became more passionate as his tongue pushed in to find John’s and his hands gripped the back of John’s head. John moaned softly, kissing him with eager need, his free hand sliding down Sherlock's neck and chest. He dropped it into their laps, palming at Sherlock's hardening cock. 

Sherlock let out a surprised moan. It’d been a long time since he’d been touched, and it felt good. “God,” he exhaled, letting his hips respond to the pressure of John’s hand. He moved his mouth from John’s mouth to his ear and then neck, sucking softly on the skin.

"I've thought about this for a while," John admitted, still palming at Sherlock as he tipped his head to make room for his mouth. 

“I wasn’t sure,” Sherlock mumbled. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted more. . .”

John nodded as he kissed Sherlock's mouth. "I didn't mind taking it slow…” he said. 

Sherlock moved back a little. “There’s not much room here,” he said in almost a whisper. “Should we move to another room?”

He pushed himself off the sofa and led John into his room. It was dark and he kept the lights off. He faced John and slowly began to unbutton his shirt, before opening it and letting it fall from John’s body. Then he began to unbutton his own before leaning in to kiss John, pressing their bare chests together.

As they kissed John started opening Sherlock's trousers, smiling when they fell to the ground around his ankles. 

Sherlock smiled as well and unbuttoning John’s, letting them fall before pushing him back on the bed. Once John was lying flat, Sherlock pulled his boxers all the way down his legs and then crawled up John’s body, leaning in close. He passed over his cock with a quick glance and made his way to up John’s face. He smiled at it, leaning in to kiss him as his hand moved down now to begin stroking John.

John bucked lightly into his hand as he looped his own around Sherlock's neck and focused on kissing him, hard and passionate. Sherlock’s whole body warmed as they kept rocking together on the bed. He shifted a bit, still leaving space between them for his hand, but now he was over John’s body, continuing to stroke and kiss him.

John pushed at Sherlock's pants. "Take these off so I can touch you too," he murmured. 

Sherlock lifted his hips and slid off his pants. He quickly reached to stroke John again, as he waited in anticipation to be touched. John reached down and started stroking Sherlock slowly, feeling every inch of him. 

Sherlock made a small gasp and squeezed his eyes shut to savor the moment. Then he opened them and kissed John as they stroked together. Finally, he whispered, “I don’t want to stop.”

"I don't want to stop either," John assured him. 

“Can you reach that drawer?” Sherlock said nodding towards his bedside cabinet.

John nodded, stretching to the bedside drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom. He shifted, moving to get over Sherlock. Sherlock turned and lay flat on the bed, shifting his legs to give John room. He reached down and held onto John’s arm.

"You're very sexy, Sherlock." John started pouring a bit of lube and massaging his entrance before pushing his finger in slowly.

Sherlock closed his eyes to the compliment, squeezing John’s arm as he felt the intrusion. He exhaled slowly, trying to relax his body. He opened his eyes again and looked at John. “Feels good,” he whispered.

John nodded, using his free hand to stroke Sherlock's cock as his other hand slowly worked up to two fingers.  Sherlock moaned softly. His whole body felt warm and filled with urgency. He dropped his hands to the bed, gripping the sheets, as he pressed his body into John’s movement. John spread his fingers, curving them lightly to reach his prostate.

“God, John,” Sherlock called out loudly this time. “God . . . I’m aching. . .”

John found the condom among the sheets and rolled it on quickly, tossing the wrapper aside for now. He took his fingers away and lined up with Sherlock, gazing down at him as he pushed in slowly. 

Sherlock reached and grabbed John’s arms again, squeezing them as John pushed himself inside. He gasped a little and John stopped for him to adjust, and then Sherlock looked up and nodded so John slowly pushed the rest of the way inside. Sherlock lifted his head slightly to encourage John to lean down and kiss him. John leaned down and did just that, licking into his mouth before he started moving slowly. 

Sherlock slid one hand in between them and began stroking himself with John’s slow rhythm. He kept his other hand tight on John’s arm, leaning up to kiss him hard again. John kissed Sherlock between soft pants of pleasure, Sherlock's body squeezing around John's cock as he moved back and forth. 

“God,” Sherlock moaned again. He dropped his hand to wipe the sweat from his face and then gripped the sheets as he sped up his stroke on himself.

John followed Sherlock's rhythm and sped up himself, the pleasure building tightly in his stomach as he moved into Sherlock, moaning his name over and over. "M'close . . ." he breathed. 

“John,” Sherlock mumbled, squeezing all of his muscles tightly as he teetered on the edge of letting go.

John slowed his movements and replaced them with deep thrusts into Sherlock. He came with a soft cry, moaning Sherlock's name over and over.  Sherlock’s body jerked as John’s orgasm hit. He felt overwhelmed, but kept his hand moving until he came as well. He let himself sink into the bed with John’s weight on top of him. They lay there panting for a few moments together and then Sherlock whispered, “Are you okay?”

John nodded. "You?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He was -- it’d been a long time since he’d done this, but it had been good with John, like Sherlock had hoped it be. He shifted a little.

John shifted carefully out of Sherlock and tossed the condom before settling close to him.

Sherlock lay there quietly, not quite sure what to say. He had a feeling of satisfaction, of course, but also the strong sense that he’d been right about what he’d told Mrs Hudson -- he wanted John around him all the time. This had only made that feeling stronger. It was good but a little scary as well. He reached up and clasped one of John’s hands against his chest. “I enjoyed the evening,” he said quietly.

"Me too," he murmured, his hand rubbing Sherlock's side.

“I especially liked that last part,” Sherlock said, smiling as he turned to look at John.

John smiled. "Yes, that was really good."

“I’d be interested in doing that again . . . on a regular basis,” Sherlock suggested.

John smiled. "I'm definitely not going to argue with that."

“Good,” Sherlock said as he turned his body to face John’s. “Will you stay the night? I got food for breakfast.”

John smiled wider. "I would like that," he said. "I wasn't ready to leave."

Sherlock sat up a little in the bed. “Should we stay in here or get back up? I mean, is the evening over?” he asked.

"We can watch a movie and relax here," he said. "It's cozy."

“Movie?” Sherlock asked. “All right,” he said, getting up and grabbing his laptop. He brought it to the bed, climbing in quickly as soon as he realised he was completely naked. “Choose what you’d like.”

John chose an old film as he curled against Sherlock. That's what he really wanted.

Sherlock lay back. This was an interesting situation to be in -- not one he’d expected but one he was definitely enjoying. He stared at the television for a few moments, not really paying attention tot he story line. “I never end my evenings like this,” he admitted. “But I’m finding it very . . . comfortable.”

John smiled. "I'm really glad. I like spending time with you, whatever we do."

“Do you?” Sherlock asked. “Why?”

"I like you a lot," John said. "It makes me happy spending time with you."

Sherlock closed his eyes. “That’s an unusual thing to hear,” he said.

"Why?" John asked softly.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever made anyone ‘happy’ . . . annoyed, yes, angry definitely but not . . . happy.”

John looked over at him and leaned in, kissing him softly. "I'm very happy with you."

“I . . . enjoy being with you,” Sherlock said awkwardly. “I like when you’re around. I . . . it’s changed things for me.”

John licked his lips. "How?"

“You’re someone I enjoy talking to -- you listen and understand and ask questions and I enjoy hearing about your life, which I confess is quite unusual,” Sherlock said. “I don’t generally get on with anyone, but with you . . . it’s different. I just _feel_ different . . .”

"I'm glad," he murmured. "I'm glad you feel the same."

Sherlock turned his head back to the television. That seemed good -- John had said ‘the same’ which must mean that John felt what Sherlock felt. He tried to pay attention to the film until he started to feel his eyes drooping. He almost nodded off so he said, “I might fall asleep . . . okay?”

John nodded. "I can put the computer down. I'll sleep with you," he said softly, stifling a yawn.

It was yet an unusual comment to hear, but it sounded nice to Sherlock. He curled around John and closed his eyes. Tonight had gone to plan. He followed his instincts and now he was pretty confident he could trust them, even about things like this.


	12. So Far, So Good

Sherlock slept, though he woke up every few hours. The first time he was startled by the highly unusual fact of another human lying next to him. The next time he realised he was actually a bit horny, but he didn’t wake up John. When he opened his eyes again, he could see the light peeking around the corners and knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep. He watched John for a little and then worried that was too weird, so he pushed on his arm a little. “John,” he whispered. “It’s morning.”

John's eyes opened and then he yawned and closed them again. "Morning."

“You can sleep longer,” Sherlock said. “I just woke up and didn’t know if I was supposed to wake you up.” He shifted a little. “I don’t want you to leave.”

John smiled. "I don't want to leave yet," he said. "I don't have work today."

“Good,” Sherlock said, relieved. He lay back on the bed. “But if you did?”

"Well, then I would have to go prepare things for the day, and I would be sad, but we would make plans to meet again and I would be happy."

“That’s one thing you could do,” Sherlock mumbled.

"What are you thinking?" John asked, turning a bit to face him properly.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said. He glanced around, trying to locate his dressing gown, figuring out how best to reach it. Finally he just stood up and walked over to the chair, grabbing it and sliding it around him. “Tea?” he asked.

"Okay, sure," John said. He sat up and stretched before pulling on his pants but nothing else. He used the toilet before following Sherlock to the kitchen.

Sherlock put on the kettle and then nipped into the toilet after John. “I do have breakfast,” he said when he returned. “Which, I suppose, reveals I was hoping you’d be here this morning. I hope that’s all right.” He glanced at the clock. “I guess it’s not actually morning anymore -- I’ve not slept this late in a long time.”

"I’m still looking forward to breakfast," John admitted. "Can I do anything?"

“Um . . . yes,” Sherlock said, pouring the tea. “You could make it. I have it but I don’t know how to make it.”

"I think I can manage," John said.

“Good,” Sherlock said. He opened the fridge door and said, “Have at it,” before sitting down and taking a sip of tea.

John warmed the stove top and started with the eggs, putting bread in the toaster and adjusting the knob. "Did you sleep okay?"

“I did,” Sherlock said. “Did you?”

John looked over his shoulder and nodded before going back to the eggs, adding a bit of cheese and seasoning. 

“Yes, my bed’s quite comfortable,” Sherlock mused, looking around the flat. “I’ve slept on the sofa quite a bit as well . . . it’s really a large flat when you think about it…but last night’s sleep was particularly good.”

John looked over at him and smiled again. When the eggs were done, he put the toast down first and then the cheesy eggs on top. He passed one to Sherlock before sitting down with him to eat. "I have to admit your bed is rather comfortable."

“I’m glad you think so,” Sherlock said, eating a forkful of eggs. “These are good, thank you.” He took a sip of tea and looked around again. “And you like the flat?”

John nodded. "You're lucky -- it’s in a good location.”

“It is,” Sherlock said. He ate a bit more of the food. “I don’t know if I could get used to so much food all the time . . .”

John looked over at him. "Well, just have as much as you like," he said. "I won't be offended." He smiled. 

Sherlock sighed a little, not sure why he wasn’t making himself clear. “Do you make a big breakfast like this every morning?” he tried again.

”No, but there's two of us this time. I know you said you don't eat much -- really, I won't be offended."

“John,” Sherlock said frustratedly. “I like the food, all right?” He immediately regretted his tone, so he got up and put the kettle on again.

John looked over at him. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

“No,” Sherlock said. He turned and grabbed his mug. “Sometimes I’m unpleasant when I first wake up . . . well, maybe not only then . . .”

"Oh. Well, that's okay," John said. 

“Do you think you’d find it irritating?” Sherlock asked, still turned toward the kettle. “Are you ever unpleasant? It’s okay with me if you are,” he added quickly.

"I think everyone can be unpleasant sometimes. I know I get stressed when I have a big job and I'm cutting it close." He looked over at Sherlock. "Why are you asking about that?"

“No reason,” Sherlock said. He refilled his mug and sat down again. “Do we need to go shopping for the dinner you’re doing to make?” he asked.

"It depends. Do you mind if I look around the kitchen?"

“Go ahead,” Sherlock said, staying seated. “Make yourself at home.”

John looked through the refrigerator and cupboards. "I only need a couple things."

“Okay,” Sherlock said, finishing his tea. “I might take a shower and then we can head out.”

"Okay. I can clean up if you want."

“You don’t have to,” Sherlock said. He grabbed some clean clothes and quickly rushed through his shower. When he came back out, John had done the washing up. “Thanks,” he said. “Should we stop at yours before or after the shop?”

"At mine? I suppose I should put on fresh clothes," he nodded.

“Are you going home after dinner tonight, then?”

John looked over. "Oh. Well no, I don't have to."

“That’s why I thought you might want to stop by yours . . . to get your toothbrush and whatever else you might need,” Sherlock tried to explain.

"I didn't want to assume," John said. "I don't have a job to work for a couple days, I didn't know if you'd want me hanging around the whole time . . . if you were busy, you know?"

“What all do you do while ‘hanging around’? I’ve been around you while you were working -- you were still able to function. Were you planning on doing something destructive?” Sherlock asked with a smile.

"No! I just relax, you know? But I figured you might not want me in your space if you were busy."

“I don’t know if I’ll be busy yet,” Sherlock said. He moved to the door. “Should we get going?”

John nodded. "Yes, I'm all set."

They headed out. Sherlock lifted a hand to hail a taxi, which took them over to John’s. “Should I come in as well or wait here?” he asked.

"You can come in. There's a shop close by enough to walk and then we can get a ride back to yours."

“Excellent,” Sherlock said, giving the driver some money and following John up the stairs to his flat.

John let them in and set to changing into fresh clothes, as well as packing a few things to take to Sherlock's. He couldn't stop smiling about the idea of being there for a couple days with him.

Sherlock looked around John’s small flat. It was quite sparse, but very neat. “Do you like this place?” he asked.

"Hmm? Yeah, I like it," he said. "I know it's a bit empty. Not as much personality as yours," he smiled. "But I don't mind."

“So you like mine?” Sherlock asked casually.

"Yeah," John said as he came out and dropped his bag by the door.

Sherlock glanced over. “Are we off to the shop then?” he asked.

"Yes, we can go." John reached for his hand and laced their fingers.

At the shop, Sherlock watched John who clearly had a plan. He occasionally picked an item up off the shelf asking “Are we getting one of these?” even if he had no idea what it was. Once they’d finished, they stopped back at John’s and then took a taxi to Baker Street. 

"I hope you like salmon," John asked, smiling over at him as he unloaded the groceries.

“Probably,” Sherlock said. “Feel free to put things wherever suits you. Consider the kitchen yours.” He filled the kettle and turned it on.

"Oh no, if I had free reign of the kitchen you'd never find your things," he smiled.

“I never have things in there nor do I look for them,” Sherlock said. “So I’m happy for you to be in charge.” He poured two cups and handed one to John. “Would you like to have a shower or something? I want you to feel comfortable and then maybe we could do something.”

"Yeah, let me get this into the oven and then I'll go," John said.

“Wait -- how long does it need to be in there? Will we have time do something before it’s ready?” Sherlock asked.

"Just thirty minutes, but it can stay in the oven afterwards until we're ready. Did you have something in mind?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said, with no more details. “Go shower now -- hurry up.”

John set the oven and took his bag with him, taking a quick shower and changing into new, fresh clothes. 

Sherlock was standing near the table when John came back out. “Right, ready?” he said. “Follow me, yeah?” he reached out his hand to John.

John took his hand, looking at Sherlock curiously as he followed.

“We’re going to the bedroom,” Sherlock said, pulling his down the hallway.

"Oh," John smiled. "Should I set the timer on the stove?"

“No, I’ll set my alarm,” Sherlock said. He pulled out his phone and set the alarm for 20 minutes. “Come on,” he said, setting his phone on the nightstand. “Sit down on the bed.”

John sat down on the edge of the bed, gazing up at Sherlock. "What's going on?"

Sherlock pushed John back on the bed. “I just want to do something to you,” he said. He started to unbutton John’s trousers.

"Oh," John breathed, lifting on his elbows to watch.

Sherlock pulled John’s trousers and pants off. His skin was still warm from his shower. Sherlock bent over and began to cover John’s thighs with kisses, slowly drifting over to lick up John’s soft warm cock. He wrapped his hand around the base, lifting it as he covered the tip with his mouth. He could feel John starting to stiffen in his hand.

"Sherlock . . ." John moaned softly, touching his hair and tugging softly.

“I thought about this last night when I woke up and you were asleep,” Sherlock said, lifting his head for a second. He covered John again, swirling his tongue before pressing lines up the shaft.

John closed his eyes and sighed softly. "You're so sexy . . ."

“Am I?” Sherlock asked cheekily. He shifted his position a little, moving to kiss John’s side as he moved his hands over John’s now hard, wet cock. “Do you like it like this?”

"Everything you do -- I like it all."

“The flat? Do you like the flat?”

John moaned softly as he nodded.

“Good,” Sherlock said. He shifted again, going back to using his mouth as he let his hand down John’s thigh, softly squeezing the flesh. Then he held his cock again, using both his mouth and his hand. John fell flat, squirming on the bed as pleasure built, heating his body.

Now Sherlock crawled over top of John, keeping his stroke firm and fast. He leaned up and kissed John’s mouth roughly. “Are you close?” he whispered.

John nodded, panting softly against Sherlock's mouth.

“I want to taste you,” Sherlock said, sliding down John’s body again, moving his hand as he let his lips and tongue cover John as well.

"Please," John moaned. He looked down again and whimpered as the heat built faster. "Sherlock . . . I'm so close . . .I . . ." John gripped Sherlock's hair as he came.

Sherlock swallowed John down, before lifting his head as he wiped his mouth. He looked up and watched John panting on the bed. Just then his phone started vibrating on the night stand. “Dinner’s ready,” he said with a cheeky smile.

John lifted his head, still panting softly in a daze of pleasure. "Dinner . . . right," he murmured, fixing his clothes a bit as he stood. "I'll get you back," he promised.

Sherlock felt quite uncomfortable pressed against the zip of his trousers, but he adjusted himself and did his best to act as if nothing was amiss. “Should I pour wine for dinner?” he asked as they headed back to the kitchen.

"Yes, that will go perfectly with it." John glanced at Sherlock's cock and smiled. "You should have let me take care of you before we left the room."

“I am sure there will be time later,” Sherlock said, though he pushed his hips against John as he walked over to hand him a wine glass.

John groaned as he took the glass from Sherlock. "You're a terrible tease," he said.

Sherlock looked over. “You’re not really angry, are you?” he asked.

"Of course not," John smiled. "Teasing is fun. And like I said, I'll have my payback," he grinned. 

“I look forward to it,” Sherlock said. He set some plates on the table along with silverware. “Do I need to do anything else? You’re supposed to be the one in charge here, yet I feel I’m doing all the work.”

"Oh calm down," John smiled. He took the food out of the oven and served it into plates. 

Sherlock definitely was not as hungry as he was last night -- the fact that he’d already had one meal today was enough -- but he did eat some and what he ate tasted good. He did try to move the food around the plate a little, so it seemed like he’d eaten more than he had.

John glanced at Sherlock's plate and smiled. "I forgot again and gave you a lot," he said. "Sorry," he smiled. 

“It’s all right -- I’m just not much of an eater,” Sherlock said apologetically. He took a sip of wine. “I’ll try better next time, but it does help if the portions are smaller.”

John smiled and nodded. "I'll remember," he promised. 

As they were finishing up, Sherlock said, “Should we go on a walk after dinner? We usually do . . .”

"Yes, I think that's a good idea." John started cleaning up, putting away the leftovers. 

“Tea before or after walk?” Sherlock asked.

"After," John said. "I am stuffed."

Sherlock moved the plates to the sink. “This time I’ll wash up . . . after the walk,” he said. They headed out and Sherlock led them to the place they’d walked the first night John came to the flat. They sat down on the same bench.

John laced their fingers as they sat together. "I'm glad you called my company that first day," he smiled. 

“As am I,” Sherlock said. “In many ways, we have my mother to blame for all this.” 

John chuckled. "I'll have to thank her if I see her again," he said. 

“I wonder what she’ll make of all this,” Sherlock said, lifting their hands. “I feel like she already knows.”

"Does she pester you about this sort of thing?" John asked.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “I feel like most people pester me about most sorts of things.” He looked over. “Do you think you’ll start pestering me at some point?”

"Maybe," John smiled. "Pestering is a sign of caring."

“Hmm . . . then what should I pester you about?”

"I'm sure you'll find something," he smiled.

Sherlock thought for a moment of all the things he’d been pestered about over the last few years. None of them really seemed to fit John -- he didn’t seem messy or irresponsible or rude and, to be fair, none of those things would’ve bothered Sherlock much anyway. Then he asked, “Do you watch much television?”

"Sometimes," John said. "I like it on for background noise."

“Films? Your first suggestion last night was a film -- do you enjoy those?”

"I do, yeah," John smiled.

“Well, there, that’s what I’ll pester you about -- films are generally not the best use of one’s time. If I come home and find you staring at the screen, you can expect some pestering,” Sherlock said. “But you’ll know why I’m doing it, right?” Sherlock added, staring forward into the distance.

"Yes," John nodded. "The same reason I'll be doing it."

“Good,” Sherlock said, squeezing John’s hand. They sat quietly for a few moments and then he turned and said, “Should we head home?”

John nodded. "I could use a mug of tea about now," he smiled.

Sherlock stood up. “We didn’t get anything for dessert,” he said as they began to walk. “There’s a little bakery we could stop into if you fancy something sweet.”

"Okay," he nodded. "A fruit tart sounds really good."

Sherlock turned them down a road and they went inside the bakery. The smells were strong, and the air was warm. “If you want something sweet for breakfast, get that as well,” Sherlock said, moving up to look into the glass cases. “Here are the tarts. What type do you like?”

"Cherry," John said. "Those are my favourite. Do you want any?"

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “Wait--” he called the clerk over. “What are those in back -- with the green and orange?” he asked.

“Apricot and basil,” she said. “I know it sounds unus--“

“I’ll take two,” he said, interrupting her. She scooped them up and then he said, “Two cherry tarts as well.” He turned to look at John. “Anything else?”

"No, that's all," John said, taking out his wallet to pay.

Sherlock reached for his wallet. “I can pay,” he said. “I work now . . .”

"I know, but I want to treat." John paid and took the small bag.

“All right then,” Sherlock said as they headed back to the flat. “But you should know one of those is not for us.”

"No? Who are we sharing with?"

“I want to give the odd ones to Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock said. “My friend from the picnic lunch . . . she likes strange foods, even if they’re horrible.”

John smiled. "I remember her. She was nice."

“Well, she’ll love you once she found out you are actually the one who got her the tarts,” Sherlock said as he stepped up and unlocked the door. He let John go in first and they knocked on Mrs Hudson’s door.

They heard her unlock her eight locks and then open the door. “Sherlock!” she said. “What are you doing here?” She fussed her hair a little when she saw John.

“Is David in there?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

“Who? Who’s David?” she asked.

“The one who likes blue and grey dresses,” Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson smiled awkwardly at John. “He doesn’t like dresses, Sherlock. You’re giving your guest the wrong impression,” she said. “No one’s here. I’m on my own.”

“You know who my ‘guest’ is, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock said. “It’s John.”

“Of course -- the chef,” she said, as if she’d just remembered. “Well, do you boys want to come in?”

Sherlock looked over at John. “Just for a cup of tea?” he asked.

"Yeah, that sounds nice," John nodded.

“Good,” Mrs Hudson said, ushering them inside. She grabbed Sherlock’s arm and gave him a smile and he smiled back. When they got into the kitchen, she sat them down and then put the kettle on. “So what have you boys been up to?”

“We were just out,” Sherlock said. “We brought you a surprise.”

“To celebrate?” she asked.

“To celebrate what?” Sherlock asked.

She gave him a look, trying to read his face. She knew John had stayed the night, but perhaps Sherlock’s answer meant he’d come to his senses about wanting to invite him to move in. “I just mean . . . since you were teasing me about David. . .” she said, turning back to the tea.

Sherlock felt a bit confused and a bit embarrassed, though he wasn’t quite sure why. “John bought it for you,” he said stupidly.

She carried the tray over to the table. “Well, that’s kind,” she said and gave John a little smile before sitting down. “So what is it?”

John looked between them and wondered if Sherlock had forgotten Mrs. Hudson's birthday or something. "Um, tarts -- apricot and . . ." He looked at Sherlock. "What was the other flavour?"

“Basil,” Sherlock said. “It sounds utterly disgusting, so I figured you’d love it.” He took them out of the bag and pushed them over.

“Ooh, that sounds intriguing,” she said. She stood up and got three plates and some silverware before taking a small bite. She chewed for a few moments and then considered. “Interesting . . . possibly good,” she said before she took another bite. “Taste yours, Sherlock,” she stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes a little but did as he was told. He cut off a tiny bite and swallowed it quickly. “Yes, I was right, it’s disgusting,” he said and pushed the plate away.

“You only got the crust -- taste the filling!” she scolded. She looked over at John. “He’s very annoying when it comes to eating -- you’ll get used to it.”

Sherlock shot her a look and then quickly ate a bigger bite. He washed it down with tea and said, “Fine, I’ve tasted it properly and it’s still disgusting.”

John chuckled and cut a piece from Sherlock’s, taking a bite. "Hmm. Not my favourite," he admitted. "I'll stick to my cherry."

Mrs Hudson ate some more and then lifted her cup of tea. “So . . . what have you been up to?”

“We went out to dinner last night, but John cooked for us this evening,” Sherlock said. 

“That was kind of him,” she said. She looked over at John. “I bet the meal was delicious, what with your own personal chef.”

John smiled. "I'd say it turned it really well," he said. 

“It was very good,” Sherlock said. 

Mrs Hudson smiled. “Maybe he’ll fatten you up, Sherlock,” she said. “If he keeps cooking, I mean.”

John smiled. "I do like cooking," he said. 

Sherlock smiled at him and then blushed when he saw Mrs Hudson smiling widely. “Well, we should get going,” he said, tipping the rest of his tea into his mouth.

“Uh, before you go, can you help me get something out of the cupboard?” she said. “I don’t want to drag the step in there and you’re so tall . . .”

He nodded and stood up, following her into her bedroom. She quickly shut the door. “So it’s going all right?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Of course,” he said. “What do you need me to get?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to check that you’re okay. Did you . . .?”

“Have sex?” he asked.

“No! I wasn’t going to ask that!” she said, smacking his arm. “Did you bring up moving in?”

“No,” he said. “Well, maybe, but . . . no. Do you still think it’s a terrible idea?”

“I never said it was a terrible idea,” she said. “He’s lovely, Sherlock, and it’s clear you have feelings for him and that’s lovely as well. I just worry about you, you know that.”

He rolled his eyes a little, but said, “I know that. I know I don’t know how to do this right . . . but I would like him to live here . . . with me . . . he’s stayed the night. I liked it.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm this time. “I’m glad, Sherlock,” she said. “You do what you think is right.”


	13. Continued Progress

They went back into the kitchen and found John carrying the dishes to the sink. “Come on,” Sherlock said. “It’s time to go home.”

John stood up and thanked Mrs Hudson for the tea, taking the remaining pastries and following Sherlock out.

When they got upstairs, Sherlock said, “I hope that was okay.”

"Yeah, I didn't mind. She's nice." 

“Perhaps we could invite her for breakfast tomorrow,” Sherlock said. “She’s . . . good to know, I suppose.” He realised that didn’t really make any sense, but it was too late, he’d said it. “Are you feeling tired?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

"A little bit," he said. "I just want to get cozy," he smiled.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

John nodded. "Maybe a film?" he smiled. 

Sherlock looked over. “I don’t think so,” he said with a cheeky smile.

John grinned and then gasped. "Oh! I owe you something," he said. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock said. He stood there stupidly. “I need to know -- are we going to bed or not? Say the answer is yes and say it right now.”

"Yes, we are," John said, a bit taken back by his tone. "What's wrong?"

“I don’t think anything’s wrong,” Sherlock said, starting to unbutton his shirt. “I want to be in the bed with you. Is that wrong?”

John shook his head and smiled. "And I want to do something for you. Is that wrong?" he smiled. 

“There’s nothing wrong with any of the things that have been mentioned so far,” Sherlock said. “So are you coming into the bedroom with me or not?”

"After you," John smiled. He was unbuttoning his own shirt as he followed. 

Sherlock went into the bedroom and then turned around as he let his shirt fall to the floor. “What are we going to do, John Watson?” he asked quietly. 

"We're going to start with my mouth on that lovely cock of yours," he smiled, unbuttoning his trousers now. 

Sherlock’s whole body warmed. He stood still, letting John take the lead.

John reached out and started unbuttoning Sherlock's trousers, dropping them around his ankles.   
He moved down onto his knees in front of Sherlock, kissing his stomach before gripping the elastic with his teeth and tugging down.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head drop down. Then he opened his eyes and watched John’s movements. He could feel himself getting hard. He took a deep breath in anticipation.

John used his hands to take them off completely, stroking Sherlock slowly. 

“John,” Sherlock said, looking down at his face. “That feels good.”

John took him into his mouth, bobbing back and forth slowly. 

Sherlock exhaled loudly, letting John’s name slip from his lip. “God . . .” he shifted his feet, trying to maintain his balance.

John rubbed Sherlock's hips as he moved, gazing up at him. His own cock was getting harder.

“I don’t think I can stand up much longer,” Sherlock mumbled.

John pulled off slowly. "Let's get into bed," he said. 

Sherlock pulled John onto the bed on top of him. “Get your clothes off, please,” he said.

John started removing the rest of his clothes. "I want to be inside you," he smiled.

Sherlock reached down to hold John’s cock, slowly moving his hand up and down it. “Yes, please,” he said, smiling before lifting his head to kiss John’s mouth roughly.

John reached up for the lube and another condom. "I love how you feel."

“You make me feel like this,” Sherlock said, not meeting John’s eye. “This is because of you.”

John scooted lower and poured lube on his hand, spreading it over Sherlock's entrance.

For some reason, Sherlock just kept talking. “It’s been forever since I felt like . . . I don’t remember when . . . I didn’t think I would . . . but it’s you . . .”

John moved up to two fingers, stretching Sherlock open. "I love watching you," he smiled. "So sexy . . ."

Sherlock tried to file the comment -- normally being watched would’ve made him suspicious -- but he couldn’t think right at the moment. “Please . . .” he mumbled stupidly, his hand moving down to hold his own cock.

John nodded, leaning down to kiss him as he pushing himself inside. He kissed him, moving a bit harder into Sherlock's body.

Sherlock’s hand started a stroke and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the feelings of pleasure and tension which were filling his whole body. They were almost overwhelming.

"You feel so good," John moaned.

The sound of John’s voice was almost too much. Sherlock’s stroke sped up and he opened his eyes as he lifted his head to try to reach John’s mouth. “Please . . .” he said again in a whisper.

John kissed him hard, licking into his mouth as he let go and came, his hips shuddering into Sherlock. 

Sherlock watched John this time and it was sexy and he wasn’t even sure if his hand was still moving but his whole body tightened and released as he felt the wetness seep over his fingers. With his free hand he pulled John’s head down and kissed him.

John kissed Sherlock hungrily, panting softly. 

Sherlock was still feeling overwhelmed by it all, but strangely it was in an entirely good way. After a few moments of kissing, he said, “Here -- get comfortable.”

John tossed the condom on the bin before settling close to Sherlock, shifting to get comfortable. 

“I really enjoy doing that with you, John Watson,” Sherlock said. He rubbed John’s arm and then reached down to hold his hand.

"Me too," he murmured, lacing their fingers.

“Actually, I’ve quite enjoyed the whole day,” Sherlock said. “I wouldn’t mind if tomorrow went similarly.”

John nodded. "Tomorrow I have to get ready for a job, though."

Sherlock let go of John’s hand. “Right . . .” he said. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “You’re not leaving tonight, are you?”

John looked down at their hands. "No. It just means I have to go shopping tomorrow and a little planning," he said. 

“There’s a good shop a few streets over -- I’ve never bought anything there obviously, but Mrs Hudson goes quite frequently,” Sherlock offered. 

John smiled. "I have to go to my usual place because I get a discount for always buying in bulk there," he said. 

“Oh . . . right,” Sherlock said. 

"You can come with me, if you like."

“Is it far from here?” Sherlock asked.

"It’s closer to my flat," he said.

Sherlock started rubbing John’s arm again. “We can sort everything out in the morning,” he said. “Are we staying in bed for the rest of the night again?” he asked. “Should I get the laptop?”

"We don't need the laptop. I just want to enjoy this," John said. "I hope you won't be bored just lying here with me."

“I am not,” Sherlock said. He closed his eyes. He wasn’t lying -- he wasn’t bored at all, he was very comfortable. But he was also still thinking, not sure if his hints were bad or the fact that John wasn’t getting them meant something bad. His mind kept working, but eventually calmed as his breath started to slow and his body began relaxing into sleep.

John watched Sherlock for a long time, tracing the sharp lines of his face very lightly until he himself dozed off.

When Sherlock woke up, it was still dark out. He’d rolled away from John in his sleep so he turned over to look at him. He wondered if he should just ask John now to move in. John might say yes in his sleep and Sherlock could use his phone to record it and then it’d be fact? Or maybe in the morning, he could just act like John already lived, feign confusion when John mentioned his own flat? 

Sherlock hated that this was such a struggle -- that his own stupidity had made so much with John a struggle, when so clearly everything in the universe was screaming out that they needed to be together all the time forever. Everything, at least in Sherlock’s universe. He put a soft kiss on John’s cheek and turned over to go back to sleep.


	14. The Final Step Of The Plan

When John woke up he stretched and yawned, planning his shopping list while he watched Sherlock sleep.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Sherlock asked, without opening his eyes.

John smiled. "Maybe."

“That’s fine,” Sherlock said with his eyes still shut. “I watched you in the night as well.”

John chuckled and moved closer and kissed Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock still didn’t open his eyes as he smiled widely. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

"Sure," John said. He started tracing Sherlock's jaw again.

“Do you like being here? With me?” Sherlock asked.

"Of course," he said. 

“Why go then?”

"What do you mean? Is this about shopping?" John asked.

“No,” Sherlock said. He swallowed roughly.

John watched him swallow hard. He stayed quiet, waiting patiently for Sherlock to continue.

“This is a large flat,” Sherlock said. “There’s a room upstairs.”

"I noticed the stairs," John admitted.

“There’s room for two, John,” Sherlock said. He stared up at the ceiling even though his eyes were still closed. “You could . . . live here . . . with me,” he said quietly.

John's hand stilled, dropping softly on the bed. "Sherlock . . . we haven't known each other very long . . .”

“That doesn’t matter . . . to me,” Sherlock said quietly.

“How do you know you want me here all the time, always in your space?"

“You’re in my space right now,” Sherlock said. “I think it makes me . . . happy.”

John smiled and thought for a few moments. Then he said, "I would love to move in with you."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over at John. “Really?” he said. “Even though I’m me and the shop is far away . . .” That wasn’t quite what he meant but it’d have to do.

John smiled wider. "Especially with you, and even with the shop."

Sherlock smiled and then turned back to gaze upward. “I’m glad,” he said. “Because I was going to throw a rather large tantrum if you refused.”

John laughed and flicked Sherlock's ribs. "No tantrum."

“I do sometimes have them . . . Mrs Hudson says I does,” Sherlock said. “Will you move out if I do?”

"No, but I just meant none today because we have good news right now."

“Will you promise to never move out?” Sherlock asked. “Perhaps that would help me be more normal about things.”

"I promise not to move out because you have a tantrum," he said. 

Sherlock smiled with relief. “I suppose I’m still a bit anxious,” he said.

"Well, I'll do my best to make you feel more at ease."

Sherlock looked over. “I’d feel more at ease with a cup of tea,” he teased. 

John chuckled. "I suppose I can't play the guest card anymore," he said, turning on his back and stretching. 

Sherlock sat up as well and then got up and grabbed his dressing gown. He stood at the door waiting for John. “I don’t want to disrupt ‘your’ kitchen,” he joked.

John laughed as he pulled on his pants and followed Sherlock to make tea. 

Sherlock slipped into a chair at the table. “We’ll have to tell Mrs Hudson,” he said. “And pick up your things.”

John nodded. "I feel like she knew this was coming," he said, smiling over his shoulder at Sherlock. 

“She knows a lot of things,” Sherlock said. He watched John bring the tea over to the table. “Thanks,” he said, lifting his cup. He waited for John to sit down. “Are you sure this all is a good idea?” he asked.

"Am I sure? This was all your idea," he smiled. He sat down and sipped his tea. "All I know is I really like spending time with you and I wouldn't mind doing that even more."

Sherlock looked over. “Here’s the thing: Mrs Hudson knows many things, especially things on which I have no expertise. This is one of those things. She advised me to do what was right, and I do know this is right. I can’t explain it to you how I know, but I do.” He took a sip of tea. “However, I’m not the only one involved so I just want you to be sure as well.”

"I am sure," John said. He took a drink of tea. "Are you going to come shopping with me?" he asked. 

“I am -- stop nagging me,” Sherlock teased. “I want to show you something first.” He stood up and nodded for John to follow him. They walked upstairs and he opened the door. “This room can be yours -- you can do whatever you want with it.”

John looked around the room. "Hmm. What if we moved whatever you are growing the kitchen here, and I can have the kitchen?" he smiled. 

“All right,” Sherlock said. He turned and looked at John. “So we’re all good?” He reached over and grabbed John’s hand.

John nodded. "I think so, yeah."

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Let me go get ready.”

"I'm just going to put on some fresh clothes before we go," John said, moving to the bedroom.

Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom and took a quick shower. He wrapped a towel around him and headed into the bedroom for some clean clothes. He was smiling the entire time. “All right,” he said. “We can go.” He moved over to the door. “I was thinking . . . I just wanted to check -- you still plan to sleep in that room with me, correct?”

John nodded. "Yes, of course," he said.

“All right, if you want to,” Sherlock said, relieved. They went downstairs and Sherlock stopped and tapped on Mrs Hudson’s door.

She peeked her head out. “What’s going on?”

“John will need a key,” Sherlock said, grinning like an idiot. “And for you to add his name to the lease.”

She looked at him and then at John and then back at Sherlock who still looked a bit stupid with glee. “All right then,” she said. “I’m not sure where the lease is, but I’ll find it. Are you two off somewhere right now?”

“Shopping,” Sherlock said. “And then to his old flat to bring his things here.”

“We’ll sort it when you get back,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile back at them and was even tempted to pull Sherlock into a hug, but she resisted. Instead she said, “I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, turning to leave. “Everything went according to plan.” He grabbed John’s arm and they headed out of 221 Baker Street, where they now both lived.


End file.
